Peace
by WriteToLive
Summary: Jack battles his addiction on his own, with painful consequences. NOW COMPLETE! Please R & R.
1. Default Chapter

Peace – Chapter 1

It was so hot that Jack could see the haze rising off the road in front of him. The acres of fruit fields stretched out into the distance, to be lost in the shimmering waves of heat. To the sides and behind, they stretched until they met the mountains that towered majestically, dominating the skyline and making Jack feel small and insignificant in his black SUV. The only sound from the outside was the buzzing of insects and the zip of his tyres on the road.

It was August, and one of the hottest summers on record. He was on hiatus from CTU, given time off to beat his addiction to the drug that had become his life in recent months. The Salazar operation was ten months in the past, the virus threat four months behind him. Jack shifted in his seat at the memory of what might have happened. If he'd failed that day, he wouldn't be here now. He'd been given a second chance, along with everyone else. But unlike everyone else, he'd been unable to take that chance as yet. There were too many ghosts, too many skeletons in the closet that he couldn't seem to face. But if he couldn't face them, he wouldn't make it. He knew that as surely as he knew his own name.

So he found himself on this blistering August day, driving through the Grapevine on I-5, away from LA. Looking for, what? Redemption? No, he was beyond redemption. He was looking for peace. And there was only one place left that he might find it.

He'd tried rehab. He'd tried so hard. But when it came down to it, the desire to live without heroin was no longer there. He'd come to rely on it to block out the memories, memories that stretched back twenty five years or more. He'd spent a month in the centre, one isolated man in the midst of a hundred broken souls. He'd hated every second, only stayed because it would be the one chance to save his reputation at CTU. He didn't know if he would go back to his job, it was there if he wanted it - they'd been very understanding actually. It all depended on the next couple of weeks.

Jack reached over and touched the gun on the seat next to him. The air conditioning made the metal cool to the brush of his fingertips. It was reassuring, having it with him. He always felt better when he had his closest ally by his side. Being without it was almost a betrayal of who he was.

The small metal box next to the gun glared up at him, mocking him, making him turn his head away. Ironic that he kept it so close, side by side with his best friend. But wasn't that the way of the world? Enemies and Allies, always close together in the swirl of life. They were like magnets with the same charge – put them too close and each repelled the other, but keep them on either side of you and they attracted more of their kind.

What had he been thinking about? Oh yes, rehab. The only thing that had got him through that wasted month was the thought of what he could get hold of the day he left. Yes, he'd had no intention of staying clean, not really. He went through the motions, told the busy and harried staff what they wanted to hear, pretended to face his demons – but he didn't face anything. He'd come to rely on those demons. They were the only thing left that gave him a place in the world.

He'd been pronounced 'clean.' They trusted that he'd stay that way; after all, he was Jack Bauer, the man of steel that could face down anything. He'd told them that he'd be fine and they believed him. He wasn't surprised. Wasn't he a master at keeping things from people? The day after his release he'd gone into CTU and asked to take an additional five months as a sabbatical from work, which they'd been only too happy to provide. 'Anything Jack, anything you want. Take as long as you need, your job will be here when you get back. Go enjoy yourself!' Why was Hammond kissing his butt? He didn't care. He was high when he'd spoken to him, not that Brad would know that.

Kim. He thought of Kim. Would she be alright? He might see her again, he might not. Who could say? Chase would take care of her though, he was a good kid. Thank God he got out while he could.

Jack saw the sign for his exit and took it. It wouldn't be long now...


	2. Peace Part 2

Peace – 2

Jack pulled into the one store in Arvin and parked by the entrance. He hastily shoved the gun and his stash into the glove compartment and locked it securely. It wouldn't do to get those stolen now. That would ruin a lot. Ha! Ruin everything! Not that there was a shortage of guns or drugs around here, Arvin was a tiny place right at the foot of the mountains. There wasn't much else to do around here but shoot – or shoot up. Hell, he could probably get supplies in a much safer way here than in LA.

This was irrelevant. He had enough. More than enough. Get on with it Bauer. Jack stepped out of the car and felt the blast furnace that was this afternoon, he loved the way it attacked his skin, making him immediately start to perspire. He basked in the heat, revelled in the way the hot air dried his mouth, enjoyed the breeze that didn't cool him one bit. He walked into the store and felt disappointed at the strength of the air conditioning. Why did people deny the weather? 'Jeez, how did we all survive before A/C was invented?' he mused to himself as he grabbed a cart.

He didn't need much. Heroin killed his appetite anyway, Jack barely ate anymore. A few basics - loaves of bread, some cheese, ham, bottled water, lots of beer. He was more interested in the liquor counter. He asked for ten bottles of Scotch. The clerk didn't look too surprised, there were many people in this part of the world that only shopped once every couple of months or so and stocked up on everything in one visit. She only raised an eyebrow because the guy in front of her didn't look like a farmer or a rancher. Still, she didn't ask any questions and Jack was glad. He didn't want to have to engage in unnecessary conversation at this point. He was eager to get going.

The kid had to go into the warehouse out back to get his bottles and Jack waited impatiently, tapping his foot and drumming his fingers on the counter. His eyes took in the store and strayed out past the front doors – how long had it been since he was here last? Ten years? Fifteen? Whatever. He was here now and it hadn't changed much in that time. If he'd stayed away fifty years, it'd probably still look the same as it had then. The clerk returned, heavily laden, and loaded up his cart for him. As an afterthought, Jack also purchased five cartons of cigarettes. He hadn't smoked since high school but what the hell....smoking would be the least of his worries. Why not go all out? Ten minutes later he was back on the road, climbing up a mountain, the completely flat panorama of the Grapevine spread out behind him. It stretched literally as far as he could see, disappearing into the heat waves a hundred miles away. Jack pulled the car over on the deserted road. He hadn't seen another vehicle in the last thirty minutes and here was as good a place as any to take a fix. At least there was something nice to look at while he injected pure relief into his veins.

He grabbed his works and prepared the needle first. The dosage was more than when he'd started using, more than when he'd come out of rehab three months ago. The habit had really grabbed him by the balls now, there was no denying it. Not that Jack ever tried to deny it to himself anymore - why bother? He was a junkie. And luckier than most, at least he could afford his habit. He wouldn't have to go stealing cars and breaking into people's houses to pay for it. Better junk too, less chance of getting untreated, 'pure' stuff that would kill you with one dose. Jack smirked at the thought.

Tourniquet on. Tap the syringe. Find a vein. That was getting harder nowadays, he was going to have to find a new injection site soon. If he ever went back to CTU, it wouldn't look good to have tracks in obvious places. Well, that was the least of his problems, he'd deal with that on another day.

He hesitated before puncturing his skin. Not because he was considering whether to do it or not, just because he enjoyed that moment of breathless anticipation before the needle went in and took all his thoughts away. That second of self-induced torture where he held off just longer than he needed to, an almost sexual desire grabbed his body as his mind screamed for what he was about to do. And then.....there....A fast, sucked-in breath as the drug raced through his veins, lighting up his body with an ecstasy he'd never found anywhere else, a freedom from the problems in his life, a release from the real torture of living in his skin with this face, this name. And then a slowly released breath as he let go of the initial hit and enjoyed the feeling of leaving his mind floating, while his eyes opened again and took in the 'real' world around him.

A dreamy grin permeated his features as he packed up his works. He didn't drive off straight away either, he wanted to look at the view that he hadn't seen for so many years. He got out of his car and strolled down the road, enjoying his surroundings. It seemed more beautiful than he remembered, almost magical how far he could see. Was that because his memory had faded, like the print on twenty-year-old CTU case files? Or was it because he was high? 'Neither,' his drugged mind concluded. 'It's because you're here, and not in your skanky apartment in Culver City. It's because you're not looking at concrete and not stuck in gridlock, it's because you're not shooting at a scumbag or torturing some guy for information he probably doesn't have. There's nothing magic about it. It's a change of scenery. Get a grip.'

Jack returned to his car, the smile gone from his face. He told himself to remember why he was here. His mind recoiled from what he had planned for his own...what was the word?.....amusement? That hardly seemed apt. Torture? Yeah, that was more like it – but it was more than that. It was everything. This was where he really found out who he was. He was even looking forward to it in a horrible, morbid sort of way. 'Always the masochist Bauer,' he told himself as he pulled back onto the road. 'What the fu(k is your problem, you psycho?' But he was only playing with himself. He knew why he was doing this.


	3. Peace Part 3

Peace – Part 3

The underside of the SUV was taking a battering as Jack drove it carelessly down a private dirt track that was littered with potholes and large stones. Even the huge pine cones were a danger to the tyres, they were tough enough to puncture them if you caught one the wrong way. He paid them no attention whatsoever, now that he was this close he wasn't going to let something as trivial as a bad road slow him down. If the car had given up he would simply have left it there, grabbing his rucksack and whiskey and hiking the last couple of miles. The place was deserted so it wasn't like anyone would steal the damn thing. It belonged to CTU anyway.

The track was dark, almost dark enough to require the use of headlights. Not because twilight had come yet, it was just that the immense fir trees that lined the road were so dense that light could hardly penetrate. Jack was right on the edge of the Sequoia National Forest, not quite in the Park itself but close enough to have the cover of the trees.

And suddenly....there it was. He'd rounded the last bend and entered the clearing in the trees where the old house stood. It was literally in the middle of a forest, the ultimate private hideaway. Jack pulled up in front of it, squashing the soft grass that had always served as a suitable parking space. He didn't look at the house, he wasn't quite ready to admit what he was doing here – and he didn't want to have second thoughts. The easiest thing was to not think about it at all. As always.

He opened the car door but didn't get out. He looked at the ground and the grass transfixed him, it took him back to a time that he'd buried years ago. It was Kentucky Blue Grass, completely out of place here in mid-California. But it had been transported to this spot, the whim of a crazy woman who demanded it – and it was still here. Flourishing even. Jack could hardly believe it. Could hardly believe the memories it brought back either. He screwed up his eyes and blocked it all out. Later. He'd deal with it later. Best to get settled in first. He grabbed his small rucksack and walked towards the house.

It had been here a while and it showed. The unpainted wood of the outer walls was dry and cracking, the crude guttering over the porch had fallen down and the windows were filthy. Leaves and animal droppings littered the porch that ran the length of the house and the rickety wooden steps creaked ominously under his weight as he stepped up to the front door. The house looked like it had been abandoned for years and it probably had been....Jack frowned. The window pane next to the front door was clean and new. He reached out and touched it as if this would explain its unnatural cleanliness. It could only mean one thing. The window had broken and been replaced. Who would have done it though? And when? Not long ago, that was certain.

Jack snatched his fingers away from the pane of glass as though he'd been burned. No! It couldn't be... His heart thumped in his throat and he looked round wildly, as though someone would suddenly materialise next to him. But the clearing was silent and empty except for his car, which looked unnatural and eerie surrounded by trees and that stupid grass and the dead branches that had fallen and now spotted the ground. The only sound was his own heart hammering in his chest and his knuckles turned white as his hands balled into tight fists.

A warm breeze suddenly brushed his face and he relaxed, letting go of the tension that had gripped him. He was suddenly aware of the rustling of undergrowth nearby as animals roamed around, the sound of birds singing a distance away floated to his ears. He unclenched his fists and turned back to the closed wooden door. He was being silly. Get on with it. Now - keys? He'd thrown his away years ago. Hurled them far out into the lake while being watched dispassionately by people who were supposed to have stopped him doing it. They hadn't and he'd never been back. Jack's face twisted at the memory and his fist lashed out, smashing the new window violently into pieces. He reached in and grabbed the Yale latch, opening the door. There had never been a need for bolts so it creaked open slightly, hanging ajar.

Jack looked at his hand. It was bleeding from several cuts and there was one pretty deep gash on the back of it. He observed the blood dripping out as if there were some answers to be found there. He was high and didn't feel a thing, he just watched as the slow trickle snaked its way to the sides and started to drip off, landing with a soft splat on the dry wood of the porch beneath his feet. Seeing his own blood was hardly a new experience. What a drag. He grabbed a handkerchief out of his pocket, tied it round his hand and forgot all about it.

The door creaked painfully as he pushed it open fully, the hinges obviously hadn't been oiled in years. It was dark inside but his eyes were adjusted enough to be able to see, due to the daylight being muted by the trees. Jack took a deep breath and kept his mind blank as he stepped inside. It was easier than he'd expected it to be actually, no evil dark forces hurled him violently backwards, no axe swung down to chop off his head. He grinned at his own childishness, realising he'd been associating this house with bad horror movies for a while now. He looked around. The entrance hall held nothing but a small old table that looked like it might collapse if he put anything on it. He tried it out with his bag and it rocked but stayed upright. Good start.

He took the door to the left and entered what used to be the kitchen. It was in surprisingly good shape although very different to how he remembered. He didn't stop to check the cupboards or look around, he just wandered quietly on through to the lounge. He was expecting there to be nothing there, was expecting the whole house to be devoid of anything except bad memories – so he was shocked to see armchairs in the room. And an old coffee table. There was a sideboard that held mugs and plates – pictures on the peeling walls damnit!!! What the hell?! The room was sparse and there was no carpet or TV or anything that would classify it as 'lived in' – but someone was definitely around. The question was, how often? His eyes came to rest on the table and he realised what he was looking at – there was a newspaper. He strode over to it and snatched it up to check the date. Two weeks ago.

He realised he was breathing heavily and went to sit down in one of the chairs. He dropped the paper on the floor and slumped miserably. This changed everything. What if someone came? And not just 'someone' either – what if it was him?

Jack knew the house was still in the family. Hell, he owned half of it. It couldn't be sold without the lawyers letting him know and getting his permission. So that Or someone close to him. There was no other possibility. Jack swore. The last thing in the world he needed was his brother showing up here.

He was glad he was high, really glad. The possibility of his older brother using the house had never once occurred to him and he wasn't prepared for the sick feeling that washed through him. If he hadn't had the drug to numb him he'd be throwing up right now, no doubt about it. He laughed in his head. Idiot! If there was no drug he wouldn't be here at all. Get real Jack! Don't be giving the stuff any more credit than it deserves. Laughing at himself silently, he pulled himself out of the chair. Who cared? If Conrad showed up, he'd deal with it. The chances are he wouldn't, Jack didn't plan on being here too long. He only needed a week or two. And in a way it was a good thing. Events could take two routes, either he'd be driving away himself, free from it all - or he'd be dead. If it were the latter, at least his brother could find the body. He probably wouldn't get a funeral but that was OK, he'd never planned on one. But Conrad might dig him a hole out back. It would be fitting actually, he'd be in hell – and so would his physical remains. Jack laughed out loud this time as he wandered back out to the car. How poetic! He never knew he had it in him.


	4. Peace Part 4

Peace – Part 4

Jack grabbed his meagre groceries out of the car, dumped them in the kitchen and went back for his gun and stash. His hand banged into the car door as he was closing it and a muted pain made him look down – of course, he'd cut himself. It was still bleeding slightly and the left leg of his jeans had smears on it where his hand had rubbed against them. Jack sighed with annoyance and reached into the back to grab the first aid kit he'd put in there ages ago. He'd better take care of the stupid thing, it would just be a pain in the butt if he didn't.

Back in the kitchen, he opened the first aid box and pulled out the needle and thread he kept in there. It wasn't something a normal person would keep but Jack had found it useful on more than one occasion. He held the needle over his Zippo lighter for a minute, then unscrewed the top of one of the bottles of Scotch. He took a few large swallows, enjoying the way it blazed down his throat and made his eyes water. Then he poured some over the needle to finish sterilising it and after threading it, placed it to one side. One other thing to do first – well, there was no sense feeling more pain than he had to, right? He smirked at himself as he grabbed his works and wrapped the tourniquet around his arm. Sure Jack, you need a painkiller – just keep telling yourself that man. Pretend like you didn't just want another fix. When was the last time you actually felt the beginnings of withdrawal? A month? Two months? You never hold off that long until you reach for the needle anymore. Scared of the pain? Scared of being without it? Damn right. Well, get used to it Jack, 'cos you're about to hit the wall and it ain't going to be pretty....

He threw his head back as heroin flowed into his veins, his mouth open in a silent gasp as he felt the drug smash into his brain and slowly flood his body. His thoughts became incoherent as he felt like his feet were leaving the ground, as he rode the wave of ecstasy as far as he could, not wanting to let go of the hit....God, this was better than anything, better than any of the other drugs, better than sex....Jesus, don't let it stop, let it keep going, I don't ever want to come down.....his body finally relaxed as he had to take a deep breath but his mind continued to fly and a deeply satisfied grin spread over his pinched face. Oh yeah! That's better.

Breathing heavily, he threw the used needle back onto the counter and undid the tourniquet. Without thinking about anything, he ripped the handkerchief off his hand and carelessly poured neat Scotch over the deep gash. He poked around it a little to see if there was any glass embedded in the skin – there didn't seem to be – so he picked up the needle and carefully sewed himself back together, never once flinching as the skin was pulled back into its proper place. When he was done, he slapped some antiseptic cream over the closed wound and bandaged it tightly. He did a good job of it even while working on autopilot, he'd had to do this many times before and he'd never had the benefit of drugs to numb the pain either. This was a snap.

Carrying the bottle of Scotch with him, he decided to check out the rest of the house and see what sort of condition it was in. He walked through the lounge and into the dining room, where he saw that the old table he remembered from his youth was still there. Jack leaned on the doorframe, swigging large mouthfuls of liquor and staring at it. What was this still doing here? Again, there was no carpet on the floor and the paint was peeling off the walls – but the battered old dinner table from twenty five years ago sat there like a ghost haunting him. Did that mean....?

He walked over to it and examined the top – yes, there it was. In a child's large messy scrawl, the word 'Jack' stared up at him, still clear after thirty five years. He'd been five when he'd scratched his name into the varnished surface with a blunt butter knife, and he hadn't been too neat about it either. He remembered how Conrad had caught him doing it and told their father. The old man had calmly waited until Jack had finished and was proudly surveying his handiwork, then he'd bent him over the table and flogged him until he wet his pants. Jack closed his eyes and could still feel the humiliation, could still hear the sound of his own childish screams bouncing off the walls, echoing through the house.

Something clicked in his head. In a sudden fit of rage and pain, he threw his whiskey at the wall, grabbed the edge of the table and overturned it, kicking viciously at the legs until they broke off. Then he picked up the broken top at hurled it across the room, taking pleasure in the dent it left in the wall.

'FU(KING PIECE OF SH!T!!!!' Screaming seemed to help a little so he did it a bit more, until he ran out of breath and was left panting, leaning on the wall. 'Save it Jack,' he told himself out loud. 'Go get set up, then you can scream and throw things as much as you want.' He stood up and ran his good hand over his face, noticing how cold and sweaty his skin was. He looked at the sweat on his hand and almost clinically took note of the way it shone on his fingertips and how much his hands were shaking. A wave of nausea swept over him and he found himself on his knees, throwing up all the whiskey he'd drank in the last hour, his back heaving as his system complained about all the sh!t he'd been forcing into it. He was left sitting against the wall, arms wrapped round himself, shaking uncontrollably while his mind still flew, stimulated by the drugs and all the memories he was surrounded with. It was the one part he didn't like about heroin – you couldn't bring your mind back on your own. If you decided you wanted to come down, you had to take other drugs to do it. Jack had some with him but dismissed the idea of taking them. He had stuff to do.

He dragged himself off the floor and picked up his sleeping bag and rucksack from the kitchen, making sure he picked up the gun and his drugs too. He traipsed upstairs, heading automatically for the bedroom he'd shared with his brother as a kid. Jack threw his stuff into the room and went to look around. He wasn't surprised to see traces of other people up here either, someone – probably Conrad – had obviously been sleeping here on occasion for a while. There was trash littered around - newspapers, candy bar wrappers, an old tube of toothpaste. A mattress on the floor in each of the two bedrooms. Even a toothbrush in the holder in the bathroom. The sink was cracked and the shower curtain was black with mould and damp as it hung raggedly off the few hooks that held it up – but when Jack tried the taps there was water, even if it was not much more than a trickle. It would do.

He returned to the bedroom, his mind's eye seeing it the way it used to be, not the damp empty space it was now. There used to be bunk beds in here, the wood was shiny and varnished and there had been a dressing table and desk that they used to fight over, saying that one or the other was taking up too much space. In the corner opposite the door was where they leant their fishing rods when they were finally called in from the lake by their mother, and there was rarely a clear spot on the floor, it was usually completely covered with flannel shirts, jeans, their hiking boots or their ammo belts from when they were allowed to use the shotgun. This had once been a fun place where they spent their vacations - a real, all-American cabin in the woods where they fished and hunted and swam and everything had been OK. Except it had never really been OK – but they'd managed to pretend, up until the time he was fifteen....

Jack shivered, suddenly cold, and he returned to the present to see that there was nothing in the room now except the old, and somewhat mouldy, mattress. The wood was dry and cracked, cobwebs hung in the corners and everything was covered by a thick layer of dust. There was a shelf though, fixed about chest height, and it seemed sturdy enough. Jack walked over to his bag and retrieved a small plastic box full of brownish powder. He held it up to eye level and took in how much heroin he was looking at – probably about ten grams. More than enough to kill him, especially if he added it to the stuff already made up in their neat little vials in his metal case. He picked up his entire stash and placed it reverentially on the shelf, then he laid the gun softly next to it. He spent a moment looking quietly at the items, as though he'd created something to be proud of. Then he returned to the other side of the room, his mind calm and his body relaxed as he leant against the wall and slid down it, his backside reaching the floor and taking his weight as he drew his knees up to his chest.

If you went cold turkey, withdrawal symptoms lasted four to eight days. Four to eight days of sheer hell. But Jack was going to use it, he was going to sort himself out once and for all. There was only one thing that had kept him alive this long and that was Kim. But she'd seen him shooting up one day when he was supposed to be looking after Angela for her and she wouldn't see him again until he got clean. He wanted her back so badly it hurt, and for that – for that he'd break himself. He calmly went over it in his head, feeling a sudden peace run through him, as though he knew it was time.

His plan was simple. Live or die. Rehab hadn't worked, no matter how much he'd wanted it to. He simply couldn't break himself down enough around other people to let them get close enough to help him. So he would do it himself. One last hit in the morning and then the test began.

He would go through it all in his mind, and find the answers. He would come to terms with everything – the Salazars, Teri, Nina, CTU, Chappelle, Tony....and his family. That was where it had all started and that's why he'd come back here – to find peace. And if he failed? If he picked up the needle again? Well...he'd deliberated long and hard over the best way to end it. One final moment of absolute ecstasy before the long sleep? Or a short sharp bullet to the head? There was no real question. He was a soldier. Live by the gun, die by the gun. The drugs were just there as a temptation. The ultimate test. If he picked up the needle after tomorrow morning – that was it. His best friend would lay him to rest, in the place where it all began.

Jack felt his eyelids drooping and he managed to crawl onto the mattress. As he fell into a dark sleep, he was whispering to himself....'Tomorrow Jack....it starts tomorrow.....'


	5. Peace Part 5

Peace – Part 5

Jack woke up very early, flushed and sweating. He was still fully dressed in his jeans, shirt and boots, he was unbearably hot and for a second he couldn't remember where he was. He became aware of the sleeping bag knotted around him and sudden claustrophobia set in, prompting a desperate struggle while he tried to untangle it from around his legs.

When he was finally free of the bag, he checked his watch. 4am. It wasn't unusual for him to wake in the night, that was a pretty common side-effect of heroin use. Jack knew there would be no more sleep for him that night but his body wasn't crying for its next fix yet – so he could afford to lie in peace and think a little.

It was so quiet. He'd forgotten how quiet it got out here. In the city, there was always background noise, even in the respectable neighbourhood he'd lived in with Teri. But here – well, there was the occasional noises from animals in the forest, and an owl sometimes cried out – but apart from that, there was no sound whatsoever. It was eerie and Jack found it a little uncomfortable. When he'd been here before, Conrad was always in the room with him. He wouldn't even think of getting scared when he could hear his big brother snoring gently on the bunk below him. For the first time, Jack got a sense of how isolated he was, how completely alone. He didn't even have his cell phone with him, he didn't want to be interrupted while he did this.

But it was more than that. He didn't have a problem with being alone up here, not really. It was just the thought that – would anyone even miss him? He was doing this so he could have Kim back. But she'd already cut him out of her life and seemed to be doing OK, she had Chase now. Teri and Claudia were dead, Kate was gone, he had no friends and he wasn't working. Since he'd been busted by Kim, he'd been called exactly once on his phone – by someone trying to sell him life insurance. Jack turned over and faced the wall. Maybe it would be worth getting clean just to be around people again. He gave a small laugh. Or maybe it was worth staying on the junk so he didn't have to deal with them. Which was better? He didn't know.

He'd been planning this for about two months now – well, maybe planning wasn't the right word. It had been that long since Kim had watched through his lounge window with Angela in her arms, watched while he tied the rubber round his arm and squeezed the plunger of the syringe. He'd been almost unconscious when he'd become aware of her standing over him with tears running down her face. He hadn't been able to do anything except look at her, the initial hit of the drug had numbed his senses and emotions and he hadn't felt a thing as she'd whispered to him that he wasn't to call her or see her again until he was clean. And if he didn't get clean, he'd never see her again.

It had hurt afterwards. He hated himself for feeling nothing as his only child told him she didn't want to see him anymore. He couldn't bear to think about what Teri would think of him for that. The days that followed had been the lowest since she had died and he'd relied on heroin to get him through it. It hurt now, when his last fix was a few hours in the past. He wanted his baby back. He wanted a lot of things back, if he was honest. But getting them was dependant on freeing himself of the one constant thing in his life, the one thing that really kept him alive. But it killed him at the same time. He knew that. He had to learn to live without it and he couldn't in LA. He couldn't when he was surrounded by his familiar life and routines, he had to break away from all of that. So he'd thought of this place and as soon as he had, he knew it was the only thing that stood a chance of working. Because if he reconciled himself with what had happened here, and everything that had happened since, there was a slight chance that he could let go of it all.

And if he couldn't, he might as well die. Because the drug would kill him eventually anyway. And he didn't want to live with himself like this. Being someone weak. Someone that couldn't look himself in the face anymore. He had to get over this.

He wanted it now, his last fix. He tried not to think of it as the last fix he'd ever have because that thought caused him almost physical pain. He couldn't get his head around the fact that this would be the last time he got that feeling of relief as all the thoughts went away – so he forced himself not to dwell on it. If he thought about it that way, he'd never stop. Not ever. And, much as he wasn't completely sure that his life was worth saving anyway – he knew he had to try. Jack Bauer had never given up without a fight before, to do so now would make a mockery of everything he'd done in the past. It would debase his life completely – he'd always be the man who could beat terrorists but couldn't beat himself. So he had to try.

Jack got up and crossed the hall to the bathroom. There was no electricity in the old house but he didn't bother taking his flashlight with him. He knew there was an ancient cracked mirror over the sink and he didn't want to look at his face. He knew it was white and hollow and gaunt, he knew he was dangerously underweight and possibly on the verge of malnutrition. He felt weak all the time, his once-healthy muscles had withered alarmingly and he actually couldn't remember the last time he ate a proper meal. Most sustenance came from the bottle nowadays, although he did take vitamin pills whenever he remembered. The alcohol wasn't doing him any favours either, he'd have to look at giving that up too. But one thing at a time.

He walked back to the bedroom when he'd done in the bathroom and grabbed his works. He'd brought two syringes with him. This one was his usual one – the other was brand new. He desperately hoped he wouldn't use the new one. If he did, it would only be once because he'd be holding a gun to his head and pulling the trigger straight afterwards. Or maybe he'd pick up the gun before the needle? Whatever. He'd deal with that when and if he had to. Jack opened one of the cartons of cigarettes and lit a smoke too. Well why not? It was a long term commitment, smoking. It almost spelled hope for the future if he started a habit like that. He laughed at his own craziness as he lovingly pulled the brown liquid into the body of the syringe. He didn't need light to do this and in a way he was glad it was dark – he didn't want to look at the last fix. Didn't want to acknowledge everything it said.

He did light a candle though, when it was time to inject. He didn't want to ruin everything by puncturing the vein all the way through, that would be a disaster. Jack stopped as the needle touched his skin, as he normally did – but this time it was with fear and pain rather than anticipation. Maybe he should hold off on this one? If it was to be the last, perhaps wait until he was desperate for it? Then he'd have something to look forward to during the morning, in a few hours he'd be hurting pretty bad....

He could have cried as he sat there, no sound except the breeze outside whispering gently through the trees. Jesus, he was already thinking of this stuff as a way to stop the pain – how was he going to cope when he was denying himself?! A tear actually escaped the corner of one eye as he struggled with himself in the dim light...he was never going to make this. He was stupid to think that he could. This wouldn't be his last hit, how could it be? He couldn't live without it, it was stronger than he was.... Jack slid the needle into his arm and his mind soared away like a bird in the clear blue sky, no more thoughts, no more tears.

He leant back against the wall and dreamily undid the tourniquet. That was it....the last one Bauer. Yeah, you can do this. Piece of cake. He took a long drag from the cigarette he'd lit. Tasted pretty good actually, once you got over the initial weirdness of pulling smoke into your body. Jack let his head fall to one side so he could look out of the window at the patch of sky he could see through the trees, it was starting to get light with the approaching dawn.

'First day of the rest of my life,' he thought to himself. 'Am I supposed to feel...renewed? Or...hopeful? Because I don't, I feel like the same old shit is going to happen today. Maybe even worse shit than usual. Come tonight I'll be climbing the walls but that's OK because I'm Jack Bauer and I can take it, yeah, I can take anything – the man who never breaks, that's me. Sure, they joked about that in the hospital after I had the heart attack, after they found out that I'd been tortured and didn't give up the chip - Jack you never break, they said, how do you do it? Tony was laughing about that and pretending he thought I was cool, just like after I came back from the desert when the bomb went off and he acted like he was pleased to see me, then he got mad because he thought I was pushing myself on his turf. The bastard, he was the one who asked me to come back that day in the first place, I wouldn't have been there if it wasn't for him and, sh!t, whatever...but I bet he thinks I've broken now. Even_ I_ think I've broken now and can I put myself back together again? You betcha, because I'm Jack Bauer and I can take anything....'

Jack closed his eyes and tried to doze off again but for some reason the thoughts wouldn't stop like they normally did. He just wanted to enjoy the peace of his last hit but it was like his brain suddenly got wired, he was drowsy and alert at the same time. He lit another cigarette with the butt of the first one but it was no good, his brain wouldn't shut up so he finally dragged himself off the mattress and decided to go outside. As he stood up, his old syringe caught his eye and he bent down unsteadily to pick it up. He walked to the window and held it up to eye level so the early morning light caught it and made it shine. He wanted to feel something for it. He wasn't sure what. Hatred? Love? But no – it was just a needle. Jack released a long breath and let his hand sag to his side, felt it fall out of his hand. He moved his foot without looking down and trod on the hypodermic, grinding it under his heel until he heard it break. Now he felt something – and it was loss. Indescribable, painful, unbearable loss - and he hated himself for it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning air was cool as he stepped outside, holding a bottle of scotch in one hand and a cigarette in the other. It was going to be another blazing day but at this early hour, everything just felt fresh and Jack enjoyed the breeze that ruffled his hair and blew gently against his clammy skin. He thought about emptying the car of the rest of his supplies – he would definitely need to get the cans of gas out of the car before it got really hot – but he decided it could wait a while. He wandered around to the back of the house, picking his way carefully over the uneven ground.

There was a large patch of open space at the back. He and Conrad used to throw footballs and baseballs to each other out there, while their mother sat on the swing on the back porch and read a book or mended their torn outdoor clothes. Now the grass was long and unkempt, and half of the porch had collapsed due to a large tree branch falling on it. Jack noticed an opening in the trees and was about to make for it – but his eye was caught by the old storehouse where they used to keep their bikes. It was still standing and seemingly in one piece so he headed over to it, propelled by the sudden wave of nostalgia that had overtaken him.

There was a padlock on the wooden door, and it was new. What the hell was he keeping in there? There was no one within miles that would come and steal anything. Jack felt the wood around the lock and discovered to his satisfaction that it was soft and rotten – a couple of strong kicks did the trick. The now broken door swung outwards and he peered into the gloom, wondering what Conrad might be using this for.

There was some shelves with tools on, a few coils of rope, a couple of canisters of gas – and a motorcycle. It was fairly new too and a real dirt bike. Jack grinned and ran his hands over the seat and handlebars, laughing out loud when he noticed a set of keys hanging by the door. 'Much obliged Connie,' he said out loud. 'Very thoughtful of you, saving me the trouble of hotwiring it.' He wheeled it out of the door and jumped on, pointing it towards the gap in the trees he'd seen earlier.

The trail led to the lake, he remembered it well. He'd spent almost every day at the lake in his vacations - fishing, swimming, diving off the rocks. As he sped down the uneven track with the wind whipping in his hair and the machine vibrating through his body, Jack felt more alive than he had in years. Felt like a kid again in fact. He used to run this mile every day, wearing just his swimming shorts, racing his brother as they whooped and hollered as loudly as they could, their voices echoing through the trees. Their mother used to say they could rouse hibernating bears with the noise they made, they'd just laugh at her and run off to practise shooting pine cones off the trees. It had been fun, once.

Jack slowed as he saw the trees clearing and he brought the bike to a stop at the edge of them. The ground fell away in front of him, a steep slope ran down to the rocks and dirt that marked the waters edge. It was a secluded lake that not many people knew about, too isolated to attract many tourists. There was an Indian reservation nearby and Jack had spent many days playing with the Indian kids when he was young – but it was too early for anyone to be about yet. It was completely deserted, completely silent, and he stared in awe at the sight of the body of dark, still water that stretched out to a far bank that was densely covered with trees. Above the forest, the mountains loomed and Jack suddenly felt tiny, insignificant – and lost. He was surrounded by such beauty....but he had to turn away from it. The memories flooded over him like a dam breaking and he felt as though he were drowning.

The last time he'd been here, he'd been screaming and desperate. He saw it in his mind as clearly as if he were experiencing it again. His mother and father and brother, standing right about where he was now – and he was fifteen years old, standing by the water and yelling at them. He'd thrown the keys to the house in the lake and they'd just watched, they'd told him they didn't want him anymore. He was no longer welcome in their family.

Their family. Not his anymore. He'd screamed that he didn't want to be part of it anyway, that he hated them all - but the whole time his eyes had bored into Conrad's, pleading with him to tell the truth and release him from this nightmare. His brother had just stared back, emotionless and allowed him get thrown away like a discarded Kleenex.

Jack couldn't look anymore and he had tears running down his face as he turned the bike away and drove it slowly back to the house. He didn't feel like a kid on the way back, he felt every second of the forty years he had lived leaning down on him. He needed a drink. What had ever possessed him to come back here? He'd vowed he never would. He supposed it was just more evidence of his weakness, giving in to his own stupid whims. Or maybe he was trying to make this as hard as possible – so he failed. He couldn't decide if that was the case or not. All he knew, as he put the bike away, was that he wished this week was over already. Whatever the outcome, he just wanted it to be over.


	6. Peace Part 6

Peace – Part 6

Jack walked over to the car, lighting another cigarette as he went. He opened the trunk, grabbed two of the large canisters of gas and took them into the hallway of the house. Then he did the same for the other three that were there – the day promised to be as hot as the one before and it wouldn't be good if those cans heated too much.

He stood on the porch and contemplated what to do next. He hadn't brought anything to do with him, nothing at all. No books, no CD player, nothing. Partly because he didn't want to distract himself from working all his problems out and partly because he knew that when the withdrawal kicked in, he wouldn't be interested anyway. Music would make his head hurt and he wouldn't be able to focus on words. It was a problem though – at the beginning it was going to be really bad but as it eased off – if he made it that far – he'd need something to occupy himself a little. Still, the house was falling down so he was sure he'd find something to do.

But, right now, what was there? Jack sat on the steps of the front porch and tried to figure something out. The stillness was palpable, as though the forest was waiting for him to do something. He couldn't make out a single sound as he sat there and he felt slightly uncomfortable. It was like the world had stopped turning, was holding its breath while he waited for something that would make it start spinning again.

He was still high and unable to bring his thoughts down to a level where he could do something constructive with them. God, it would be nice to be able to stay this way forever! Not thinking properly and not caring.... Jack stopped himself immediately. That was the sort of thinking that would get him in trouble. If he managed to convince himself that staying on heroin didn't matter, he was dead. And his brain WOULD try to trick him into thinking that, that's what drugs did. Hell, that's how he'd managed to get through all the stuff the Salazars had made him do – he'd just got high before going to work and then everything was OK, he'd found he was able to not care about the atrocities he'd had to commit. And when the day was done, he'd get high again just to make sure that he didn't start to think about them.

The Salazars. The bastards! This was all because of those two. He'd started using a couple of months before going undercover so he could gain their trust. That's what he'd told Chappelle and Rae Plachecki when they'd found out about the drugs anyway. Was it true? Jack took a long drag on his smoke and tried to think about it rationally. He thought back to the night when he'd made the decision, almost a year ago.

Strangely enough, it was Tony who had put the idea in his mind. They'd been working late one night, putting Jacks cover together at CTU. It was not long before he was due to go – Tony had been against him going in himself to start off with but the first young agent they'd tried to get into the cartel had been killed and Jack refused to let anyone else try it. He knew that it was up to him – and if he was honest with himself, his relationship with Kate was slowly driving him crazy, reminding him of so many things that he'd been trying to keep buried, that he'd been relieved when the opportunity to go away had come up. And Tony had made an off-the-cuff comment about how he should mention once having been a drug user to Ramon, that that would give them a frame of reference for him – and Jack had immediately thought 'Why not do the real thing?'

It had been stupid, he'd dismissed the notion straight away. But it wouldn't GO away, no matter how much he tried to make it disappear. And then, a few days later he'd had a fight with Kate. She'd asked him why he was working so much, why he was so distant with her, why the long silences? He couldn't tell her that he was planning a mission and all of a sudden, the parallels with Teri hit him like a brick in the head. He was doing exactly the same thing that he'd done with her, and suddenly, he couldn't move without being reminded of his dead wife. Kim would smile and he'd see her face, Kate would cook him dinner and he'd hear Teri asking him to taste the sauce in the pan to see if it needed salt, he'd walk into the tech rooms at CTU and would once again be holding her pale lifeless body in his arms while he sobbed and begged for her forgiveness.

Of course, the forgiveness never came. How could it? She'd died because of him and all of a sudden, she was everywhere. He'd needed to get out but the mission wasn't going to be given the green light for another month or two. And the idea of drugs had been planted in his mind and it wouldn't go away. He had a justifiable reason after all. So after the fight, he'd stormed out of the house and driven off, ending up in one of the many seedy areas of LA. Quite a few drinks later and he'd been to see a guy, a known dealer. Turned out that working at CTU had a few hidden perks after all. No rooting around, trying to find a dealer in some dodgy bar. He knew exactly where to go. A quick stop at an ATM, a furtive exchange in the back of a nightclub and Jack was in possession of a few grams of premium heroin, some citric acid, a syringe and a tourniquet – the rest of the equipment was easily obtainable on his own.

Jack leaned back so one of his elbows rested on the floor of the porch behind him, the other hand lifted the cigarette to his lips for a long, slow drag. He remembered the motel he'd gone to. He couldn't have done it at the house he was sharing with Kate, that wouldn't have been right. Jack had been over this time and again in his head – was that all there was to it? Memories of Teri, a fight with his lover and an idea planted in his head by a friend? Was that all it had taken to turn him into a junkie? No – there must have been more to it than that, surely. Whatever it was, he couldn't think of it, there was like a wall in his head that he couldn't climb. He just knew that from the minute he'd contemplated starting drugs, the idea had been like a disease that he couldn't control. He knew he'd cave. He'd had a friend in the Army who'd become addicted to junk and Jack remembered asking him why once. The friend had told him – 'It makes everything go away. You don't care about any of the other sh!t that's happened to you.' He'd never forgotten that – and maybe he'd remembered it that night. He'd been pretty desperate, he knew that much.

That first hit. Jack stubbed out his cigarette and lit another, taking a long pull of Scotch at the same time. It was almost painful to think about how good that first hit had been. He'd fiddled for ages with the spoon and the cigarette filter, clumsy with inexperience. The memory was so vivid that Jack shifted uncomfortably on the step, his mind suddenly craving the drug, his eyes not seeing the beautiful surroundings he sat in.

But he could see the brown stained walls of that motel and the feel of the carpet sticking to his shoes. He could hear the noise of the strung-out couple screaming at each other on the floor below and the TV of the deaf old guy in the next room. Traffic buzzing past the window and the steady thump-thump of a bass beat from a kid's stereo somewhere across the street. He'd sat at the desk that had a mirror in front of it, looked at his face when the needle was finally prepared. He'd pulled on the tourniquet, found the vein and was sitting waiting, waiting....for what? Someone to say it was OK? He'd looked into his own eyes, the syringe in his hand ready to go and he searched, searched for about ten minutes within himself. Not for a reason to do it – but for a reason not to. And he couldn't think of one. Not one single reason why he shouldn't plunge a needle into his arm and inject himself with filth.

He'd been crying when he did it. He remembered now. He'd watched as tears filled his eyes and spilled down his face. He was sitting in a disgusting motel room in downtown LA, drunk and about to start using drugs and he couldn't tell himself why. He had no clue who he was or where he belonged or why he did anything anymore. He didn't feel like a real person at all – so he'd carefully raised the needle to his arm and slid it into his pulsing vein, careful not to push too hard. Even when he'd seen the small drop of blood form on his arm he hadn't pushed the plunger. Just waited, with tears coursing down his face. But nothing had come to stop him, no interruption, no phone call – and still no reason not to. So he'd done it. Jack remembered the initial sting...and then the feeling of being thrown through the air at a million miles an hour while not moving, like he was about to hit the ceiling of the world, like every orgasm he'd ever had rolled into one, like this was the one second in his life when he'd ever been truly alive....and then he'd breathed and pulled the needle out and instead of the noise he'd heard before, all he was aware of now was his heart, thumping rhythmically in his ears in perfect unison with the bass across the street, he'd felt like he would live in this moment forever, locked in stasis, unable to move.....

Jack flicked his cigarette away in disgust. He'd sold himself out for so little. Yes, it had helped him in Mexico, no doubt about it. And he'd gotten away with it too – even though they'd found out that he'd started using way before the mission, he hadn't got into trouble for it. CTU thought he was clean now, his life was ready to go again – so why had he hit the self-destruct button again at the earliest possible opportunity? Well, that was the question....

He couldn't stop staring at the grass. That damned grass! This place was really fu(king with his head. He got up and walked onto it, noticing its distinct texture and growth. He bent down and pulled a few blades from the dry earth, rolling them in his fingers. He and Conrad had had to plant this area. It had been scrubland before that and perfectly normal in the surroundings, perfectly adequate to park the old beat-up station wagon on too. But their mother... Jack took a long drink of Scotch and went to sit back on the porch, the grass still in his hand. Their mother had had her breakdown by then – he would have been, what? Eleven? She'd demanded that THIS grass be brought in and that her lazy, good-for-nothing brats would do some work this summer – so he and Con had spent three weeks out all day, every day, in blistering heat, wearing nothing but cut-off jeans and working their fingers to the bone clearing the land, digging over the rock-solid, parched dirt so it would be ready to plant new grass on. It didn't matter how many times they'd told her the ground was too dry and the weather too hot for it to grow, she wouldn't listen and just told them to stop trying to get out of it. They hadn't even been allowed food, not until they'd done enough to please her for the day. The blisters from the shovel had taken weeks to heal.

Jack found himself checking his hands, as though being in the vicinity of this place would suddenly make them raw and bleeding again. He half expected his back to seize up when he moved, as it had for every day of those three weeks of labour. To everyone's surprise, the grass hadn't died either. It was still here now. Jack dropped the few blades in his hand. What did it matter? His mother had been nuts at the time, it was ages before she got straight again. And his Dad had been a mean old bastard, free with his fists and a hair-trigger temper - but with a moral code that even Jack couldn't find fault with. The moral code that had eventually been his, Jack's, downfall for one reason and another....but he wasn't ready to go there yet. He mind shied away from it as though getting too close to the memories would burn him or cause some damage that he wouldn't be able to repair...

Damnit, he felt weird today! Usually he got high and just sort of drifted around in a dreamy no-mans land. But here, it was like his brain wouldn't shut up. And that was good in a way, if slightly annoying. That was why he'd come here right? To make everything square in his head. Jack knew that there were things that he was going to have to face head on for the first time in years – but he wanted to do that when he was clean. Or, cleaner than he was now anyway. Because drugs had the awful habit of making you absolutely clear on how you felt about something...until you came down off your cloud. And then everything looked quite different. Jack didn't want there to be any grey areas anymore. He wanted things black and white, dealt with and squared away. It was the only way he could move past it.

He sat with his scotch, lit another smoke. Stared into the trees while his mind teemed with inane thoughts. He didn't try to fight them anymore, didn't resist. This was what he wanted, after all. But he was waiting. Nothing could start until the pain came. It wouldn't be long now, it had been a couple of hours since the last fix. Maybe another six at the most. Then this thing would really start happening. Until then, he was content to wait - and the world was still, waiting with him.


	7. Peace Part 7

Peace – Part 7

It was enjoying this. It really was. Who knew that a small metal case with its lid open, brazenly displaying its contents, could freely exude such malice? Exude anything in any way in fact. But that's what it was doing, sure enough. It laughed at him, called him pathetic, told him how stupid he looked sprawled there like an overgrown baby. Jack lay curled on the dirty mattress, his arms wrapped tightly around his midriff, as though the pressure would somehow ease the cramping. Sweat ran freely down his clammy face, he gasped for breath every time a spasm wracked his body, making every rigid muscle scream for relief. He wanted so desperately to reach for the sleeping bag that was right next to him but he was afraid to move even one arm in case his abdomen should suddenly suffocate him if he did. He was freezing, shaking uncontrollably while his teeth threatened to break because they were chattering together so hard.

It had started about two that afternoon. He'd spent the morning drifting around, drinking, smoking, not doing much. He was trying to mentally prepare himself for what was to come without actually thinking about it too much. About eleven that morning, he'd figured that he should eat something proper because if there was one thing he knew, he was going to need his strength. So he spent an hour trying to put together a meal of pasta and ham and then trying to force it down, even though his appetite was non-existent. Most of his brain told him that it was pointless, he was going to lose it pretty soon anyway. He told himself to shut up, that hopefully at least some of it would be absorbed before he saw it again.

He'd been trying to doze in the lounge when he'd first noticed the way he was shifting around in the chair. It was easily 105 degrees outside but he gradually began to feel cold. Then he noticed that the slightest sound from anywhere – the rustling of his clothes against the chair, birdsong from outside – started to grate on his nerves, and he knew it had started. He sat very still in the seat, trying to ground himself the way he did before starting a mission or going into battle. Then he got up, changed into his running shorts and went out for a walk.

He tried so hard to focus on his surroundings. He named every plant and tree that he could remember, tried to recall everything his father had told him about animal tracks in the forest, started reciting baseball statistics in his increasingly frantic mind. He'd walked about two miles before turning back to the cabin and he walked a lot faster on the way back, twitching nervously at every sound as his nerves stretched and frayed, sweat pouring off him in the oven he was walking through.

He got back and drank a two litre bottle of water and a pint of OJ. It was vital that he didn't get dehydrated – that would kill him faster than any withdrawal. His stomach rumbled ominously and started to cramp gently. Jack knew he didn't have long before this got really bad.

It had increased gradually as the afternoon wore on. He'd finally lost the remains of his lunch at around 5pm. By that time, he was alternating between being colder than he'd ever been in his life and flushing so hot that his temperature was easily hitting 104

Now it was midnight. God, this was worse than last time! There'd been methadone in the clinic even though he'd tried to avoid taking it whenever he could, feeling that he ought to show that he was making some kind of effort. And he'd been monitored through the worst of it, doctors had overseen his fluid levels and respitory rate, nurses had administered cold compresses and given him blankets whenever he needed them. He'd hated the clinic but he had to admit, it was easier than this. Of course, his habit hadn't been quite as advanced then.

That case. That damned case! He eyed it suspiciously, it was staring at him! Moonlight shone through the window and gleamed off the metal, the fu(king thing was making sure it was visible at all times! He couldn't drag his eyes away from it, it stared at him constantly and he kept trying to stare it down but kept losing when he had to clench his eyes against the pain.

'Focus Jack. Focus goddamnit! Just another bad guy torturing you. It'll be OK. It'll end. It always ends eventually.' He told himself this over and over, whispering out loud through parched lips, although hardly any sound came out. But this was different to regular torture. He'd always been able to lock a part of his brain away from the terrorists, keep it separate and go there when the physical pain got too bad. This time it was the brain itself that was torturing him, thirsting for the drug, yelling at him louder and louder until it reached a fever pitch, all thoughts gelling into an incoherent symphony of pure white noise that he couldn't escape.

It wasn't quite constant, not yet. It rose and abated like waves, he had brief periods of respite where his thoughts cleared a little and his stomach unclenched. When that happened, he knew it was time to run for the bathroom otherwise things were likely to get messy. He held out for those brief moments, they were what were keeping him going at the moment. Jack dreaded the time when they stopped altogether. They were coming further and further apart now and he was scared.

Now! All of a sudden his stomach muscles relaxed and he dragged himself up, grabbing the sleeping bag as he moved as fast as he could across the hall to the bathroom. Thank God the plumbing still worked, albeit grudgingly. If his condition got worse, he'd be forced to find a bucket or something, as he wouldn't be able to make it as far as the bathroom – and THAT would be deeply unpleasant. But better than nothing.

Jack grabbed the walls when he was done, forcing his shaking legs to carry him back to the mattress. He collapsed onto it as soon as he reached it and groaned with the stress that placed on his aching joints. Why the fuck was he doing this? Why? And how the hell had he gotten into this mess in the first place? A wave of nausea swept through him and he only had time to roll over and throw up on the floor, rather than on his bed. Jesus, he'd hardly eaten anything in weeks! Where the holy fuck was this stuff coming from?!

He lay back gasping. Well, at least the first forty eight hours were the worst and he was almost quarter of the way through that now. Supposedly they were the worst anyway...Jack knew worse was to come. He'd had a glimpse of it before and that was when he'd still been tapering off on methadone. It had still been the worst thing he'd ever experienced. His mind shied desperately away from it and he tried to focus on his breathing.

Jack forced himself to sit up. He had to drink something, even if he couldn't keep it down for long. The sweat had been pouring out of him for hours and his tongue was starting to swell – he was dangerously dehydrated already. OJ was the best for it, he had Gatorade around here somewhere but he wasn't going looking. Jack grabbed the carton desperately and ripped the top off – the smell made him gag and his stomach contract and he gasped in pain but forced himself to sip it as quickly as he could. This respite was nearly over, he could feel his wasted muscles start to clench and unclench, completely outside of his control.

He managed to drink about half a litre before having to grab his stomach again and lean forward to try and ease the tension. It never did any good but it was reflex and Jack wasn't about to ignore that. Oh God – it was worse this time, it was agony, it felt like every one of his muscles were trying to slowly grind his bones to powder! He couldn't stop himself from crying out now, long deep groans that served to release some of the pain he was feeling. His whole body ached, it hurt to breathe even, it was like being in a giant invisible vice that just kept squeezing and squeezing, threatening to turn him into jelly, crush him slowly, second by second, allowing him to feel every bone cracking and breaking, every vital organ get turned to mush in agonising slow-motion...

Jack lost all sense of time as he writhed on the mattress, clutching at himself, tears rolling endlessly down his face and mingling with the sweat, the cries getting louder and louder until they became screams as the minutes ticked slowly by until finally he was sobbing and pleading, begging for it to stop, God, anyone, please, he'd do anything, just make it stop, please, please, Oh God make it stop....please...!

It was the pain that saved him really. It had been carrying on at this level for a good two hours now and he was completely unable to walk. If he had been able to, there was probably nothing he could have done to stop himself walking the length of the room and filling that syringe. He kept an eye on it when he could, that case, noticing that it hadn't moved even though it felt like it was everywhere, all around him, filling the room, like he could reach out and grab it and it would take all his pain away. But every time he prised his eyelids open and found himself reaching for it, it was still ten feet away on the other side of the room that seemed to stretch off into infinity and he couldn't quite stretch his arm out far enough, couldn't push his fingertips those extra inches, couldn't quite summon the energy to start crawling....

Jack was screaming. He could hear the screams as though they came from a long way away, couldn't associate them with himself. They echoed around the house....

Just when he thought he couldn't take anymore, when he was tearing the sleeping bag to pieces with his bare hands and ripping his fingernails off because he was clawing the walls....his muscles let him go. He lay moaning and shaking, he couldn't think because of the buzzing in his ears that filled his world. He was so weak he could barely uncurl himself from the foetal position he'd been stuck in for hours now. He groped blindly for water, unable to make out any shapes in the darkness. When he finally found it, it was a five minute struggle to pull himself into a sitting position, his body simply didn't want to work with him.

His brain was speaking to him and he couldn't stop it, it wouldn't shut up. He clutched at his head, pleading with it to stop and let him think, but it wouldn't...

'Do it Jack. You don't want to do this anymore. You can make it stop....in a couple of minutes you could be all better...it's over there. You can make it that far. Crawl over. Go on.....'

He shook his head, his hands still holding it.

'Do it....go on Jack, nothing's worth this....'

'NO!!'

'Nothing's worth this, nothing. You can use for the rest of your life....there's no reason to be without it. You want it. It's right there...go on Jack...don't be a pussy...'

The voice was low, sweet, seductive. He couldn't hear anything else, nothing else existed, no other place, no other noise. Just that voice...He screwed up his eyes and tried to force it out, tried to think of anything that could help. He started desperately whispering.

'Kim, think of Kim. You want to see her again...'

'No you don't Jack....you want this more....'

'Kim, think of Kim...

'They'll be days of this Jack...days. You'll be feeling this pain forever, its never going to go away. Not ever....'

'Kim...'

'You made your point. You tried. Now get over there and make this better. You cant take this anymore....you're nothing without it. You know that....its just a few feet. You cant do this anymore Jack....'

'I can...I can...' he could taste the salt of his sweat and tears in his mouth... 'I can take it....Kim....' He was crying, sobbing desperately, holding himself, trying to block out that low voice but it wasn't working anymore....he tried to see Kim's face but he couldn't remember what she looked like, couldn't hear her voice or see her smile, all he could think about was the feeling of sweet relief running through his veins, ending all of this, releasing him, making it all better....

Jack was halfway across the floor before his body mercifully gave up, making him pass out. He was stretched at full length with one arm reaching desperately forwards towards the metal box on the shelf, where it gleamed brightly in the moonlight, silently laughing at him in the dark recesses of his mind.


	8. Peace Part 8

Peace – Part 8

Jack walked up the driveway of their house, enjoying the gentle warmth of the sun on his face. It was peaceful and quiet, a sleepy haze seemed to have settled over the neighbourhood making everything feel restful and easy. Jack strolled casually up to the front door, taking his time, there was no rush.

He pushed the heavy oak door open. It swung easily on its hinges and made no sound, and Jack walked into the cool interior, feeling the stillness of the house and noticing the way the cool air of the inside played across the thin film of perspiration on his forehead. There didn't seem to be anyone here and he turned to look at the door as it silently swung closed behind him.

Jack grinned as he stood in the hallway. It was so good to be home! It felt like years since he'd been home! Where were Teri and Kim though? They should be waiting for him.... He walked into the lounge and saw that everything was in its proper place, Teri must have cleaned that morning. He walked to the sideboard and examined the Asian antiques she liked to collect – he never really looked at them anymore because they'd become part of the background in the house... but they were beautiful. Really stunning, she had such good taste.

Through into the kitchen. They weren't in here either but Jack took the opportunity to turn the coffee machine on. While it was working he strolled up the hallway to the bedrooms, maybe Teri was sleeping? She wasn't though, the bed was made. Jack sat down on it, ran his hands over the crisp sheets, loving the way they felt on his fingers. He saw himself in the mirror that sat on the top of Teri's dressing table and smiled at what he saw – he looked pretty good today! He was wearing a new navy shirt, one that Teri had picked out for him – well, she chose all his clothes if he was honest – and she'd been right about it, it suited him. But where was she?

Jack rose and wandered down towards Kim's room. There was a sound from inside but no answer when he knocked on the door and no reply when he called her name. He pushed the door open slowly...she wasn't there. The sound was music coming from her music box, it played nursery rhymes over and over. He walked over and picked it up, watching the little ballerina in her tiny white tutu spin round and around.... It had driven him mad when Kim was young, but it was her favourite and he loved the way that she giggled and laughed when he wound the key and the music tinkled out. She would wrap her little arms tightly around his neck and say 'Wind it again Daddy!' and he would, anything to please her, and she would laugh again and tell him she loved him.

He set it down and it played on. The ballerina continued to turn endlessly as a tinny version of 'Humpty Dumpty' plinked out...Jack left the room and found himself whispering the words under his breath. He walked back towards the kitchen but stopped as he passed the glass doors that opened out into the backyard. There she was! Teri was sitting in a swivel chair by the pool, sitting with her back to him....Jack grinned again and pulled the door open. It slid quietly to the side on its casters and she didn't hear it, she didn't move as he approached quietly either. He felt almost giddy to see her, it felt like it had been forever! He'd missed her so much, he wanted nothing more than to just hold her tight and never let her go again.

The water in the pool shimmered brightly and reflected the sun up onto his face as he reached forwards and touched her lightly on the shoulder.

'Hey baby! I missed you....'

There was a smile on his face as the chair swivelled slowly around. It seemed to take forever but Jack waited patiently, the stillness of the back yard lay heavily over him and he felt almost drowsy. He could almost sleep as he stood there, the heat of the day warming him, the sound of the water in the pool relaxing him – and he could hear the music box as though it were right there next to him, and at the same time, it was as though it came from a long way away, blanketed by distance and time...

'Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall....'

Teri was still turning slowly. She was wearing her favourite shirt, a lovely dark pink one and he could see the collar of the white T-shirt she wore underneath as he looked down at her.

'Humpty Dumpty had a great fall...'

It seemed to have a hole in the back though. She wouldn't be pleased about that. Maybe he would buy her a new one.

'All the Kings horses and all the Kings men....'

There was a baby crying somewhere, bawling incessantly, and it cut through the stillness of the warm air like a low-flying jet. Jack found that it almost hurt his ears even though it wasn't so loud, and it really grated on his nerves.

'Couldn't put Humpty together again...'

The chair had turned and Jacks face froze in a mask of horror as Teri looked at him, her face a skeleton that grinned and leered at him. He wanted to scream but his voice wouldn't work, wanted to run but his muscles held him in place....The skeleton laughed - horrible, high-pitched peals of laughter that assaulted his senses – thick, red blood oozed from a gaping wound in her stomach and poured down into her lap, it made Jack sick to look at it, and in her arms....in her arms, a tiny foetus, no bigger than her hand was screaming and screaming and screaming...Teri's skeleton face gnashed her teeth at him and she raised the baby to her eye level as the screams got louder and she laughed and laughed...until she closed her hand and squashed the tiny child, abruptly ending all sound.

The silence was somehow louder than anything...and suddenly the holes that were the eye sockets glowed red, the hand with the dead child in it still raised and the skeleton opened its mouth and said clearly in a voice so dripping with malice and evil that Jack would remember it for the rest of life...

'Hello Jack...look what you did.....'

Jack woke with a yell and couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't see anything but a rotten skeleton grinning at him. He wasn't aware of the hard floor beneath him that smelled of damp and mould as he opened his mouth and screamed, but the image wouldn't go away and he could still hear the music from the box tinkling gently in the background.

'No....no! No more...it has to stop. I can't...Oh God.....' He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, aware of the pain again but with no clue where he was or why he was feeling this...he just prayed that it would all go away soon....

The music stopped in his head and there was silence.

There was no pain. He was floating weightless, suspended in the air above a valley. Snow lay on the ground in a clearing in a forest but he didn't feel cold even though he could see his breath hanging in the still air before him. He tried to move and couldn't so he gave up and just floated, wondering what he was doing there. He watched the ground below him, watched as he saw shapes emerge from the trees and he saw men walking into the clearing, dressed all in black, shambling along slowly with bent heads and rounded shoulders.

He tried to shout down to them but they ignored him, or couldn't hear him, he didn't know which. Wasn't even sure he was making a sound actually. They grouped below him and shuffled into a tight circle, their backs close together so that their faces pointed outwards. Then they just waited and Jack wondered what the hell was going on - who where they? And what were they waiting for?

Slowly, he became aware that they were moving, gradually being pushed outwards, away from each other as a new figure rose from the centre of the circle. Jack recognised her at once and fear gripped him as Claudia rose slowly up into the air to meet him. Claudia was dead!! What the hell?! Her head was bowed down so he couldn't see her face but he began calling her name desperately, wildly...and she raised her beautiful face, her long dark hair fell back over her shoulders and Jack could see the hole in her head where the bullet had killed her, he began to fight and yell as she rushed up towards him, faster now, with her mouth opened in a wide grin. Blood started to pour down her face and into her mouth, staining her teeth red and making her mouth a grimacing black hole.

Jack fought desperately to get away, he stared down at the figures on the ground and started screaming for help but they looked up at him and for the first time he could see who they were...it was his team from Nightfall, and they were all dead, bullet holes riddling their bodies, blood pouring from slit throats, their eyes glazed as they laughed up at him. He recoiled in horror as Claudia reached him and locked her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her and forcing him to kiss her bloody mouth. He could hear the shouts of the men below....

'LOOK WHAT YOU DID JACK....!!!'

...as he struggled to get away, tears rolling down his desperate face, mingling with Claudia's blood. He could smell her perfume as it mixed with the scent of death and he finally forced her off him, only for her to look deep into his eyes and whisper,

'It's you Jack. It's all on you. What happens next is on you....'

He start to sob with pain and terror as the baby started to cry again and the sound of Kim's music box hit his ears and he started to fall...Claudia released him and watched as he fell, endlessly, flying through the air down to the men that waited for him below who all jeered and laughed and yelled as he landed in the middle of the circle. He begged and pleaded with them to leave him alone, that he was sorry, that he wished he died with them...but they ignored him as they advanced on his curled up body, he was powerless as they began to kick him and beat him and pull out their knives.....

Jack woke once again, once again found himself screaming and crying as he fought the demons that only he could see. He opened his eyes and saw that he was in a room – but where? Where had the men gone? He was glad that they'd left him alone, but was he alive? Had they killed him?

There was a bed on the floor. This was obviously a nightmare. He crawled towards it slowly, noticing that his body was aching and causing him pain. His hand hit a bottle as he crawled...water! He flopped to the ground and pulled the top off, pouring it desperately in to his open mouth and all over his face. It felt good, cold and fresh and he didn't stop until the bottle was empty. Then he pulled himself towards the mattress again...he would go to sleep and when he woke up it would all be gone and he'd be at home with Teri laughing at him for making such a noise in the night....

He was outside the cabin. It was the first day of summer vacation! Jack felt a wave of happiness and freedom rush over him as he ran into the house and pounded up the stairs to find his brother.

'CONNIE!! Come on, let's go to the lake!' He ripped his backpack open and started throwing clothes everywhere, looking for his swimming shorts, Conrad doing the same beside him. Then they pulled off their clothes and ran down the stairs, giggling madly and pushing each other, both trying to be the first to get to the shed to grab their bikes.

Conrad yelled to their mother that they were going swimming and Jack heard her yell back that they shouldn't be late for dinner. They grabbed their bikes after checking that there was enough air in the tyres to hold their weight – not really, but they were too excited to wait and pump them up – and off they went, the warm air whipping through their hair and around their naked torsos as they pedalled as fast as they could down to the water, racing each other and calling out to each other as they went. Jack couldn't remember ever feeling this happy as he tried to outdo his brother – but Conrad was bigger and faster and disappeared round the track in front of him, leaving Jack pedalling alone in the middle of the forest.

It was colder now, amongst the trees, and Jack shivered slightly as the air brought goose bumps on his naked skin. He was trying to catch up with his brother but it was like he disappeared, the forest was silent and it was suddenly a little scary. Jack tried to push the bike faster but there was suddenly a 'pop' from the front tyre – he looked down and noticed that he had a puncture.

'Damn!' He braked to a stop, suddenly feeling very alone. But he jumped off the bike to examine the tyre – it wasn't even a slow puncture, so it wouldn't get him to the lake. His Dad would kill him if he rode on the rim, it would ruin the rubber completely...but he had nothing to fix it with here, so he left the bike by the side of the track and started to walk towards the lake. It wasn't far now anyway.

He couldn't help notice how dark it was underneath the trees. They towered above him – Jack was ten, and small for his age – and the sounds of animals were making him jump. They seemed very close to him and all the tales his mother had told him about mountain lions and bears in the area came back to him and he started to jog, longing for the open space of the lake and the company of his brother.

It was so dark now...it almost seemed like it was night. Surely he should have been there by now? This track wasn't that long...he started to run properly. There was a noise behind him and Jack looked over his shoulder – the trees had closed in! There was no track behind him...how was he going to get home? Something howled in the forest and it was so dark now, he couldn't see anything...he started to sprint and was almost crying when he saw the trees open up in front of him. He pushed himself as fast as he could go and had never felt as relieved as when he emerged into the open air, seeing the lake spread out before him.

Conrad was sitting on a rock out in the water, barely visible in the distance. The sun had disappeared and it felt like twilight, which was strange as it was still only midday. Jack walked down to the waters edge and slipped his shoes off. Before jumping in, he looked behind him – there was still no track. The trees now came right to the edge of the rise, and there didn't seem to be any way back. He was confused...but Conrad would know what to do. Jack walked into the cool water, enjoying the chills it sent over his skin. He still felt uneasy but much better than before....at least he wasn't alone now.

It seemed to take forever to swim out to the rock. His arms felt heavy and sluggish and he kept calling out to Conrad to come and join him – but his brother just watched him coming and didn't respond to his shouts.

'C'mon in Connie! You wanna play water tag? Let's dive for stuff – I bet I can hold my breath for longer than you now! You wanna race?'

Nothing. His brother just watched him, his face stony.

'Connie? What's the matter?'

Jack finally reached the rock and hovered next to it, treading water. Conrad stared down at him, still saying nothing. Jack had to squint to see his face as the last of the sunlight was behind it.

'There's something wrong...the trees, they closed the track! I don't know how we're going to get back! Should we try and find Dad?'

Conrad stood up. He walked to the edge of the rock and looked down at his younger brother.

'No. The trees will be fine.'

Jack was starting to worry now. Conrad sounded cold and almost grown-up – and not very nice.

'Connie?'

'They did that because I asked them to. They'll let me back through.'

'What...?'

'You're not coming back with me Jack. Mom and Dad don't want you anymore. You're staying here.'

Jack didn't know what to say. This wasn't like one of Conrad's usual jokes, he seemed really serious. 'What are you talking about?'

'You're staying here Jack. None of us want you anymore. Mom and Dad told me to get rid of you. So I am. You're a loser and we all hate you. Never come near us again.'

Jack started to cry. 'What am I supposed to do?'

'We don't care. Look – there they are now.' Jack turned in the suddenly freezing water to see his parents standing by the edge of the lake with their arms around each other. They were laughing. 'I'm going back with them. Don't try and follow us.'

'But...' Conrad dived over his head, and the waves he created smacked into Jack's face and into his open mouth, making it hard to see. He started to splutter and cough. When he regained control, he could see his brother swimming away. Jack immediately started after him...but something was holding onto his ankle, pulling him back. He fought it desperately, trying to move but he couldn't, his arms thrashed madly as he attempted to catch up with Conrad, the big brother he adored...but he wasn't moving....

He watched as the figure pulling away from him reached the edge of the lake. It seemed as though it were miles away, even though it was only about 100 yards. Jack started yelling for his parents to come help him, still trying desperately to move – but the weight around his ankle was getting heavier and he could feel his arms tiring. He screamed louder as Conrad walked out of the lake to stand by their parents, he sobbed as all three of them just looked at him out there alone, nobody moving to help...

...the weight was really heavy now, and Jack was having trouble staying afloat. His head dipped below the water and he forced himself back up again, breathing heavily, trying not to let any water go down his throat. His cries were getting weaker and weaker, and still his family just stood and watched. They didn't speak and as Jack was pulled under again he saw his father put his arm around Conrad's shoulders, a gesture of acceptance and comfort. Jack struggled to come up again – he managed to break the surface and cry out one more time...but they were turning away. They were leaving him there! He gave one last great struggle as he saw them disappearing into the trees, he caught a glimpse of Conrad looking over his shoulder with a sneer on his face...

...and then they were gone. Jack was all alone, a tiny figure struggling in the huge expanse of dark water, surrounded by a vast forest and towering mountains...his last cries went unheard as they were lost in the great empty space, as he was pulled under the surface and no one noticed that this time, he didn't re-emerge...

Jack's eyes opened once more, but they might as well have remained closed for all he could see. He lay still on the mattress this time, no screams. All he was aware of was the tears on his cheeks as he struggled to draw breath – it was like he was still drowning. He was confused, one thought ran through his head as he tried to bring himself back to the present...'That wasn't how it happened. No...it didn't happen that way....'

He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them as pain once again flooded his body. He didn't know how much more of this he could take....


	9. Peace Part 9

Peace – Part 9

Jack stood on shaking legs, one hand gripping the shelf in front of him. The box had been calling him for more than three days now, he'd finally found the strength to crawl the ten feet or so across the room and drag himself to his feet in front of it.

God, he wanted it! Wanted it more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. He didn't know how long he'd been standing there, staring at that shiny needle crazily, listening to it as it whispered to him, told him that it didn't matter if he picked it up and filled it with the brown liquid. It was so close he could taste it, feel it running through his aching, pulsing veins, he thirsted for the feeling of weightlessness and relief it would bring. More than anything he craved release from the nightmares, the hallucinations that filled every moment of his life, they had gripped him for as long as he could remember now. It felt like forever. He couldn't recall much that had happened before he came to this house, everything outside of this room had faded into a distant, blurred memory. The prison he was in was his entire world and nothing else mattered. It was as though time had stopped and the world was waiting to see how his struggle would turn out.

It was the gun that was stopping him. Even though his throat was dry and constricted with desire, even though his whole body shook and his vision was blurred, even though his mind was full of the spectres of the dead and his brain screamed for the prick of the needle...the gun was there. He remembered the promise he'd made himself, it was drilled into him that the syringe and the gun now went hand in hand. To pick up one meant picking up the other – even in his state he could focus on that.

He'd only put the gun next to the box on the shelf as a symbol – and for convenience. So that if he'd broken completely, the gun would be close at hand. It had turned out to be a blessing though, because now it was reminding him what giving in really meant. It was aiding his natural stubbornness that was telling him in a weak and tiny voice that he didn't want to do it, he didn't want to get high again.

Heroin was stronger and was getting stronger by the minute. The longer he stood there, the more his resolve crumbled. Jack sweated and shook, tears ran freely from his clouded eyes, he was completely torn. He was freezing again but he couldn't drag his gaze away from what sat on the shelf. Did he want to die? Was that it? Surely the answer was a simple 'no' – if that was the case, then why not just turn away? If living meant walking away from the box, then why not do it?

Because it hurt. It really, really fu(king hurt. The pain was unlike anything Jack had ever felt before and it was a completely different type of pain too – an unrelenting, unmerciful attack on every sense, every muscle, every joint, every thought in his head. Jack would give anything to have it stop, anything in the world – which was why he'd crawled over here in the first place. He had meant to get that needle into his arm as quickly as he could tie the tourniquet. He would gladly have died, just to feel that sweet sensation pouring through him. And then he'd seen the gun and been brought up short by the reality of it. One thought had penetrated the fog of pain in his head – he'd broken. For he first time in his life, Jack Bauer had given in to the pain and let it beat him. He'd said he couldn't take anymore and was willing to let his captor completely into his mind, give it everything, tell it anything it wanted – all so he could get his fix. And just like a terrorist, when this captor had what it wanted, it would kill him. Because through everything, Jack looked at the gun and knew he'd do it – if he went all the way and used the needle, he'd pull that damn trigger - because he was sick. Sick with himself. Sick that he'd ever come to this – a junkie with no strength to control his own actions. And he wouldn't live like that. He couldn't.

He didn't know it but he'd been there for two hours. Time meant nothing to him, he couldn't even comprehend the concept of it. It was him, standing between life and death. That was the only thing that mattered now.

He tried to clear his head. Wouldn't work. A jumbled mess of half-finished thoughts collided with each other, bounced off one another and he couldn't make sense of any of them. It was just noise. He finally pulled his eyes away from the gun and the box, looked down at his shaking legs. The floor seemed to be a long way away and it swam underneath his eyes so he had to close them to stop himself from losing balance and falling over. He lifted his head that felt like it weighed 200 pounds and settled his eyes on the whiteness of the knuckles that gripped the shelf. He vaguely noticed that his hand was aching – and there was blood on it! Where had that come from? He slowly managed to open his fingers and prise his hand from the shelf, standing on his own two feet for the first time in over three days. He pulled the hand up to his eyes and noticed that it was cut open, and blood – both new and old - coated the back of it.

The metallic, sharp smell of the new blood assaulted his nostrils and made him retch, and for a second his mind was clear of desire and pain as he fell to his knees on the hard floor and dry heaved on the floorboards. There was nothing in him to bring up, but his head swam from the effort and his joints screamed in protest at the sudden movement. When he'd done, he sank to one side and rested against the wall underneath the shelf, trembling uncontrollably.

His hand. What had happened to it? Jack looked again, careful not to bring it too close so that the smell wouldn't overpower him again. He could see broken thread to the sides of the gash – of course, he'd had to stitch it up! He couldn't tell if it hurt or not because all of him hurt, his entire body felt stiff and the ache was constant, driving him mad, like his bones were on fire and being squashed at the same time. And he couldn't sit still anymore, he had to keep moving as though that would distract his mind or relieve some of the pressure.

But he hadn't done it. He'd stood there within reaching distance of relief – and he hadn't taken it. That alone was worth something and it gave him the tiniest ray of hope, the most delicate sliver of grass to grip onto while the rest of him hung over the cliff. Jack rolled onto his knees and began crawling back to the mattress, starting the trek that seemed to be miles long, back to the starting line where the struggle not to crawl this distance again began once more.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sleep was troubled as before. It had taken all the energy he had to get back across the room and he managed it by focusing on the spots of water on the floor that his falling tears created. He found that by staring at those, he could pull his heavy legs and shift his arms forward without concentrating on how much it hurt to do so. When he'd finally got back to his bed, he'd sprawled face down and immediately passed into a heavy sleep, oblivious to every sound from outside and every feeling in his battered body.

Teri was still a skeleton, his Nightfall team were still dead. Claudia still wrapped her bloody lips around his and he was still left alone to drown in the lake. He'd found himself carrying an axe too, chopping his parents to pieces, he'd been chased by Nina's rotting corpse, had his legs ripped off by giant fish in the lake, Chase and Tony had electrocuted him and tortured him, run him over in his car....and that baby, that tiny baby – his unborn child had killed him many times over, screaming and screaming until his head blew up or he slit his own throat in despair. And always, always the music played, the one constant through it all. He almost came to rely on it, looked forward to it in a sick kind of way. Because even though Kim had never been in any of the nightmares – the music brought her there. He heard it and thought of her.

He was dreaming of her this time though. It wasn't as bad as the others – but in a way it was much worse. She was in front of him, talking and crying but he couldn't hear what she was saying. Every time he moved closer to try and catch her words, she moved further and further back until he was shouting to her over a distance of a football field, his yells lost in the rain and swirling wind and she receded until she was a mere speck in the distance and finally he couldn't see her anymore and that was when he started to scream, calling her name over and over but she was gone, she couldn't hear him.....

Jack woke suddenly and for the first time, he didn't automatically curl into a tight ball, trying to protect himself from the pain. He was aware of the silence around him, aware of the fact that it was dark – but there was a light somewhere...he swivelled one eye up towards the window without moving his head, his vision clearing ....yes, it was getting light outside. It didn't register with him that this was the first time he'd remembered that there was a window there at all, he didn't notice that the pain wasn't quite as bad as it had been the last time he woke. All his attention was taken by the all-too-familiar realisation that there was a gun pointing at the back of his head. Even with what he was going through, he'd recognise that feeling anywhere....

He closed his eyes and didn't move. Maybe it was all part of the nightmare. Maybe it was another hallucination. His grip on reality had become precarious at best...Jack forgot about it, tried to go back to sleep again. He could hardly bear the images that came when he did, but he figured that the more he slept, the quicker he'd get through this. The mattress was wet under his face, from tears or sweat, he didn't know which. Probably both. And the pain was back, although he seemed to be able to think through it a little now – and Kim! Oh...he'd seen her face! He'd been trying to remember her face and now he'd seen it...but she'd been crying, hadn't been able to hear him...Jacks insides curled in a way that was nothing to do with withdrawal, and tears leaked out of his eyes once again and he gasped as his aching muscles gripped him and his throat tightened....

Something prodded at the back of his head. Oh yes, the gun. Jack had had enough. He'd stood in front of his own gun and hadn't picked it up, he'd wrestled himself to the edge of madness trying not to stick a needle in his arm when it was the only thing he wanted to do, he was sick and exhausted and had barely the energy to turn his head...and now someone was prodding a gun into his head. He didn't care why, didn't care who it was. In a way he was relieved – they could make the decision for him. There would be no more fighting, no more pain...he wanted to grin but a shiver ran through him and turned it into a grimace as his muscles protested. Jack licked his cracked lips with a dry tongue and managed to croak:

'Do it. For the love of God, do it...'

He wasn't sure if the person had heard him, he'd barely heard himself. He didn't care anymore...he was done. He felt the barrel of the gun moving off his head and vaguely saw a pair of boots walking to the other side of the room before his eyes closed and he slipped back into a deep, restless sleep.


	10. Peace Part 10

Peace – Part 10

Jack opened his eyes when the sunlight on his face got to hot to ignore any longer. His first conscious thought was that he could think clearly. His brain started to assess the way his body felt, as though this was a necessary procedure he had to run through before he could consider moving.

The pain was OK. It was still there, he felt like he had been run over twenty times by a large truck and then dragged through the streets. But it wasn't acute the way it had been for days, more it was a fatigue that rested in his muscles and made him want to sleep for the next ten years. But his brain was awake and alert and he knew that it was time to start pulling himself back together.

He could remember all of it, in a distant and hazy way, in a way that promised that eventually the individual memories would fade and he'd be left with a jumbled fog of images and feelings. The fear was what stood out now – how scared he'd been by it all and how close he'd been to giving in completely. Jack wasn't a religious man, but he offered a quick and silent prayer up to whoever might be listening, thanking them for letting him get through it. The relief was so strong he could taste it and a small smile spread across his face as he realised that he was here, still alive and ready to fight another day.

He turned his attention to the room. He'd been staring at something for a few minutes now, without actually seeing it at all. There was a chair about six feet away from the mattress. He knew he hadn't put it there and was pretty sure it hadn't been there last night. It was wooden, old, with a high back and no armrests. There was a white mug on the floor next to it. Jack stared at the brown stain on the side, where coffee had dripped over the rim and dried there and he suddenly remembered – there had been someone else. Someone with a gun. His blood ran cold and his heart plummeted into his feet. How long ago was it? When did he get here? How much had he seen? And more importantly, where was he now? Jack suddenly felt very vulnerable, lying there in just a T-shirt and shorts. He wasn't sure he was up to what was coming next. But then, hadn't he been planning on dealing with this anyway?

There was no sound in the house. Outside there was only the normal sounds of the forest – had he left? No, he wouldn't have left. Jack waited, didn't move.

Eventually he heard the sound of a motorbike, coming from somewhere at the back of the house. He listened as the shed door was slammed and then there was silence – the footsteps were too quiet to be heard from where he was. But he was coming. Jack felt his stomach tighten with nerves, the adrenaline started flowing and he couldn't decide whether he should get up or not. What was the best way to do this? Be sitting up and waiting? Or pretend that he was still ignorant of his brother's presence? Jack knew it was Conrad, it was logically the only person it could be. He felt something close to panic as he thought about seeing him again. It was too soon! He wasn't prepared for this – what if it was too much pressure and he couldn't hold back from the needle? Jack's brain rebelled at the thought of a heavy conversation right now, or a fight or anything. He just wanted to get clean and go outside, relax a while. Get some food maybe. He didn't want pressure, couldn't take it right now.

The front door closed. Jack didn't move. Maybe he'd leave him alone, to come down on his own....no, there was his footstep on the stair. He was coming up. Jack couldn't help wishing that he had something to help him through this – and his veins pulsed at the thought. Desire gripped him but he pushed it aside and forced himself to lie still. It was too late to be sitting up and ready, he'd pretend to be woken up by the noise. Jack had no idea what he would say.

The footsteps reached the top of the stairs and Jack could feel the presence behind him, watching and waiting. He seemed to be checking if he was awake. Jack let out a small groan and shifted slightly, listening for a response. He got one too – the sound of a shotgun being cocked and the rustle of fabric as it was raised and aimed. His mind raced. Was Conrad seriously thinking of shooting him? Why?

He moved again, as though he was waking from a deep sleep. No sounds from the doorway. Jack shifted onto his side, facing out into the room. He didn't have to feign the slowness of the move, every muscle ached and creaked with the effort it took. He shut his eyes to block it out. Block everything out actually, he still didn't have a clue what was going to happen now. Then, suddenly, he heard his father's voice.

'Don't make any sudden movements.'

Except, of course, it wasn't his father who was speaking. His father had been dead a long time now. But it was uncanny the fear that Jack felt on hearing the similarity, hearing the voice of a brother he hadn't spoken to in twenty five years. That voice brought back a wealth of horrible memories, ones he didn't want to have to deal with yet. But the words amused him slightly and he let out a soft chuckle.

'As if I could if I wanted to.'

Jack slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, back against the wall, not looking at the tall figure pointing the gun. He was afraid to look. It was as if facing Conrad would open up a whole new thing and once it was open, he wouldn't be able to back away from it. He'd be forced to deal with it and right now, the effort involved just seemed like too much. Jack's gaze wandered to the shelf. The box was still there. So was the gun. He looked down at the floor and didn't move his eyes.

Conrad walked slowly into the room with the gun still raised. He stood right in front of the man on the bed and aimed squarely at his forehead. Neither of them spoke.

Jack was at a loss for words. He distracted himself by counting the cracks in the floor and trying to identify the sounds from outside. It wasn't like him to be rendered so utterly speechless – but then, he hadn't been in this situation before. Still, the oppressive silence needed to be broken so he cleared his dry throat and croaked out,

'You really don't need the gun. I'm not dangerous. I'm not going to try anything.'

No response. Jack still didn't lift his head but he noticed a half empty bottle of water and reached for it.

'Don't move.' The tone was menacing.

'I need a drink. I'm just going to reach for it slowly....' He did and Conrad didn't stop him. Jack picked it up, then eased himself back against the wall and drank the water straight down. It was warm from the heat of the room but it was still the best thing he'd ever tasted. It helped to focus him on what was going on. Why was his brother acting this way? Jack didn't have a clue how he had expected him to react – well, he hadn't expected to see him at all when he'd he planned this thing out. And now he was here...well, it was uncharted territory.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. Jack raised his head and looked his brother squarely in the eye. A wave of shock ran through him that was so strong it made him gasp out loud. Jesus, the man was the image of their father! There'd been a resemblance when they were young, but now, at forty four, Conrad looked exactly like Sam Bauer - their father - the last time Jack had seen him. Tall – about 6 feet 2 inches – dark brown hair cut short at the sides and longer on top, brown eyes, and strong features set in a handsome face with a square jaw. His mouth was set in a determined line just now, the eyes were hard and menacing – and they didn't hold a hint of recognition. Jack suddenly realised what the gun was for and it made him more nervous than ever. He also felt extremely vulnerable - a small figure, bathed in sweat, leaning against a wall for support. He probably looked and smelled horrible and Conrad obviously didn't have a clue who he was looking at. Jack supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. He had never looked like either of their parents – and it had been a long time.

'OK, you've had your drink. Now tell me who you are and what the hell you're doing in my house. You'd better have a good reason because I've got every right to blow your head clean off your shoulders. Start talking.'

'Conrad....' Jack pushed himself flat against the wall as the gun was suddenly right in his face.

'How do you know my name?!'

Jack smirked, he couldn't help it. This was all too weird to take in. His mind was buzzing, he ached all over, he had a gun in his face and he was supposed to offer a coherent explanation of his presence to his estranged brother?

'What are you smiling at jackass?! I get a call from a park ranger who's a buddy of mine, telling me my house has been broken into. I get up here to find a strange guy in a bedroom, who is obviously a junkie. There's a gun and a small fortune in drugs sitting on a shelf, you've broken into my storage shed and there's five large cans of gasoline sitting in the hall downstairs. I could have you arrested right now – hell, I could kill you right now and no one would bat an eyelid. So you've got five minutes to tell me why I shouldn't do either of those things - and make it good.'

Jack cleared his throat and tried to make his voice clear and strong. 'Well, you could have me arrested for the drugs, sure. But I could get out of that so you shouldn't waste your time. And the breaking and entering? No, you can't get me for that.'

Conrad hesitated. He was obviously curious but didn't want to bite. Jack didn't speak again though so he had no choice. 'Any particular reason why not? Last time I checked, I did own this property.'

Jack stared straight into his eyes and hoped that his brother was ready for this. A shotgun blast to the face wouldn't be pretty.

'No Conrad. Last time you checked, you owned HALF of this property. And I own the other half, so I've as much right to be here as you do.'

The silence that descended was like a thick blanket that covered the room. Jack found himself holding his breath as he stared into those brown eyes, waiting for a reaction. The face didn't change its expression, but it did turn visibly white as he watched. Then the barrel of the gun started to waver as though the arms couldn't hold its weight anymore – eventually it pointed down at the ground and Jack relaxed slightly. Conrad stood with his arms at his sides, staring in amazement, taking in the man before him like he was trying to see something he recognized.

'Jack?' It wasn't more than a whisper. Jack nodded, slowly, his eyes never leaving the face.

'Holy. Fucking. Hell.' He seemed to be shaking. He took a few steps back and the back of his legs collided with the chair. The left hand reached down blindly and found the seat, he slumped into it, his eyes never leaving Jack, who didn't move.

'Yeah Con, it's me.' He just stared and Jack fought the urge to laugh. The situation was just so weird! 'How've you been?'

Conrad seemed to be in shock, or some kind of trance. Jack raised a hand and waved it across his brother's eye line, trying to wake him up. He shifted his eyes away from the man on the floor and looked down.

'What are you doing here?'

'I'm sorting some things out.' Jack kept his voice even, clear of any emotion. He didn't want to have to explain himself. He was surprised that he didn't feel angry – but he was sure that would come. Right now, all he could think about was how much he wanted a shower. And a fix. God, he'd love a fix right now. Thinking of the drug made him want it, and all of a sudden Jack felt bad, tired, irritable and unable to deal with this. He hadn't asked his brother to show up. He didn't want him here. And now he was just sitting there, staring, making him feel like a circus freak or something. Damnit, he didn't want this!

'Stop staring at me Con.'

'Jack, I haven't seen you in twenty five years and now you're in my house, sitting in front of me. You're a junkie. You look like sh!t. And you haven't told me what you're doing here. You didn't think I'd be surprised?'

'I didn't think you'd be here at all. I wish you weren't here.' Jack's voice was hard and Conrad looked even more surprised.

'Well...I'm not sure I want you here either. I seem to remember you saying you'd never come to this place again. What happened – you get nostalgic?' There was sarcasm in the tone and Jack felt his temper flare. He didn't need this and wasn't in the mood to put up with it.

'Yeah Conrad, I got nostalgic. Nostalgic for this place, where you ruined me and I lost my family.' Jack moved finally, struggled to his feet, wincing at the pain that shot through his body. He walked a few feet and stood over the figure in the chair, his legs trembling. Conrad just looked up at him, his face unreadable. It was like Jack's comment had taken his voice away, but there was no guilt or pain on his features. He was just blank, and Jack was reminded even more of their father.

'Leave. I won't be here long and I don't want you with me. I told you years ago that I never wanted to see you again and I meant it.' No response. 'I'm going to take a shower. I don't want you to be here when I get out.'

Conrad didn't give any sign that he'd heard but Jack didn't wait for one. He reached into his bag and grabbed some clothes, a towel and some soap. As he stood up his eyes passed over his stash and he felt his throat tighten. Well, at least it was better than before. A little easier to resist. But he wasn't kidding himself – he knew that the real battle had just started. Staying off it was a much longer process than the initial withdrawal. He turned his back on the drugs, forgetting that his brother was still sitting there, not registering his presence at all. His mind was concentrating on fighting the want that screamed in his head. The guy in the chair was nothing. After all, heroin had been much closer to him than Conrad ever was.

He walked out of the room without looking back. He didn't see the way that his brother sagged in the chair after he'd left or the way he dropped the gun and rested his face in his hands. And he wouldn't have cared if he had.


	11. Peace Part 11

Peace – Part 11

Jack shivered as he stood under the trickle of freezing water that served as a shower in the old house. He still wasn't feeling that great and his legs shook at the effort of holding his weight. But it felt great to get clean again, Jack felt like he was buried until layers of old muck and sweat and he scrubbed himself thoroughly to get rid of the grime. He revelled in the feel of the water sliding over him, he felt beaten up but alive, and even though it was cold it helped to clear his head and it seemed like he was thinking freely for the first time in years.

He couldn't hear Conrad moving around in the bedroom or downstairs, and he hoped that his brother had done as he asked and gone away. Jack simply didn't feel up to dealing with him right now, his family issues were the ones he dreaded facing most of all. He wanted to get his life square in his head, to sort everything out but he didn't think he'd be able to do that with Con fouling up the scenery. If he went away, Jack felt like he actually had a chance – something he would never have allowed himself to feel a week ago.

After twenty minutes, Jack couldn't take the cold anymore and turned the squeaky dial on the shower to the 'off' position. He towelled himself vigorously to get warm again, and then threw on some jeans, a T-shirt and a thick sweater. It was over a hundred degrees outside again but the cold chills from withdrawal hadn't disappeared completely – Jack looked forward to the day when he felt 'normal' again. He was tired and sick of feeling ill. As he hung his towel over the rail by the cracked sink he caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror. He looked like hell, he couldn't deny it...but he smiled when he looked into his own eyes. They were clear and free of the cloud of heroin, he looked 'sober' for the first time since rehab. And he hadn't spent a great deal of time looking at his face even then – he'd known he was going to get back on the drugs as soon as he was let out and that was hard for him to deal with. But it had been inevitable really.

A painful spasm gripped his stomach muscles and Jack held on to the edge of the sink until it passed. It was nothing compared to what he'd been through in the last few days but it still hurt. In his worn-out state the pain seemed worse than it actually was. He was terribly weak and he realised also that he was desperately hungry. He hadn't eaten for days.

Jack opened the door, walked down the stairs and headed straight for the kitchen, lighting up a cigarette as he went. There was no sign of Conrad and no car other than his own at the front of the house. So he'd listened! He was gone! Jack tried to think about how he felt about that and eventually realised that there was nothing there to feel. He wasn't angry that Con had just disappeared again, wasn't hurt about his lack of interest in him, felt no remorse for driving him away. He felt nothing. His brother hadn't been any part of his life for so long, the brief re-appearance he'd made didn't register at all. Jack dismissed him without effort and set about making some breakfast.

It didn't take long for him to notice that his drug-addled brain had made a few judgement errors in the food department. He'd stopped for groceries on the way up here – but he'd shopped for himself as someone on drugs. Heroin users don't eat much so he hadn't bought much. He'd forgotten that the whole plan was to stop using the drugs and he had, for the time being at least. Unfortunately this meant he was experiencing the hunger that clean people get – and he didn't have enough food to last long up here.

Jack sighed and cursed. Damn he was stupid! He had enough food for about two days – and enough scotch to last a year. The nearest store was an hour away and he couldn't face the prospect of the drive just yet. Besides, the whole point was to stay here and not go back to the world until he was sorted. He felt angry with himself, and discouraged too. How could he be so dumb? He'd made a stupid mistake...the old Jack would never have done that...

He made a basic ham sandwich and went to sit in the lounge, the fragile optimistic mood he'd been experiencing was completely shattered. The weariness he felt seemed to be seeping into his very bones, the idea of actually doing anything made him sick. He ate the sandwich slowly and tried to think of something he felt like doing but he was too angry with himself to focus and too tired to actually move. Jack couldn't believe it. Most of the drugs were out of his system, right? So why didn't he feel better? He started to shiver slightly again as a chill caught him unawares and out of nowhere he felt a lump form in his throat. He wasn't going to be able to do this...if he felt as shit as this every day, he'd rather just be dead. He attempted to think of something happy to make himself feel better but his mind went blank when he tried. All he could think about was the emptiness that now filled him. He had nothing to do, his body wouldn't operate properly, there was nothing to look forward to and he was stupid, the stupidest man alive. For God's sake, who forgot to buy enough food?! It would be funny if he weren't such a loser.

Jack shifted his position so he was sitting sideways in the armchair, his legs curled up to his chest and the side of his head resting on the seatback. He was still cold and hungry and mild cramps grabbed him every few minutes. A tear ran down his face as he sat there feeling sorry for himself. He couldn't stop himself thinking of the peace that the heroin had brought him and was taken completely by surprise by the strength of the craving that washed through him. Oh man, he still wanted it so badly. Everything was easier when you used. You didn't feel ill, didn't need to worry about food, or sleep, or work, or people...Jack tried again to remember exactly why he was bothering to put himself through this.

Of course...Kim. She smiled slightly as he realised that he could now remember everything about her. He could recall that desperate sensation during the withdrawal when he'd been trying to remember her face and couldn't, that had been one of the worst things. He couldn't stop the thoughts that had arisen at the time...what would Teri have thought about him? She would have been disgusted, him not being able to remember their daughter properly. Well, she would have been disgusted with him anyway, just because of what he was now. And he didn't blame her. The smile died on his face and he felt the pain in his body again, the pain that had nothing to do with drugs. He'd been feeling it since she died – that sensation of despair when you suddenly remember everything that's happened and what a mess you're in. And you can't see a way out, and you're trapped and there's no one to help, you're on your own....it's like a feeling of barely-repressed panic, rising through your body like a huge, suffocating balloon and Jack had never been able to get away from it. Then he started using, and he found that did the trick. Until he stopped and then it was worse than ever, the panic only got worse. During rehab, he'd likened it to a fantastic dinner that you enjoy all the way through, indulging yourself and revelling in gluttony – and then you get the bill and you realise you can't pay...

Jack reached for his wallet in his back pocket. The photo was still there, that one of the three of them. He carried it everywhere, had done since Teri's death. The only time he had been without it was when he was in Mexico. There were many times when he'd felt as though he was in over his head and he'd reached for the snapshot so he could touch base and remember the things that were important – he'd always felt bad when he realised that he didn't have it with him. He looked at it now and got lost in the faces of the two women he'd loved most in the world. Looking at Kim's pretty face made him smile and even seeing Teri looking beautiful and relaxed brought him some kind of happiness. It was looking at himself that made him start to cry.

He looked young and healthy, clean-cut and at ease with everything. He could hardly recognise himself now, the picture he was staring at showed a stranger. He wanted to be that man again, but he knew that he couldn't be. Too much had happened, he'd changed far too much. Jack sat and stared at his past, unaware of the time and his surroundings, even ignoring the way he was shaking slightly. He was trying to find a link somewhere, some way of travelling back to who he'd used to be...but it was as though the last few years were shrouded in fog and he couldn't find a way through.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Who're they?'

Jack's head snapped round, he hadn't heard anyone come into the house. Conrad stood over him, staring at the photo he still held in his hands. Jack had dozed off in the chair, dreaming of Teri when she was still alive, not the skeleton of his drug induced nightmares. It had been nice, seeing her like that and he was angry to have been pulled away from it.

'I thought you'd gone.'

Con shook his head. 'No, you're not getting rid of me that easily. We need to talk and I want to know what's been going on with you.'

Jack stared at his brother's serious face and wanted to hit it. 'I told you, I just want to be left alone. I don't want you here Con, seriously.'

'Well, seriously Jack, you don't have a choice. I cant stop you from being here seeing as you own half the place, but you broke a window to get in, you broke into my shed, you've stacked cans of gasoline in the hallway – which stink by the way – and you're a junkie with a huge stash of heroin on a shelf upstairs. Oh, and you're carrying a gun. You think I'm going to leave you here alone? Dream on brother.'

Jack frowned at the sarcastic tone of his voice and tried to work out what he really wanted. He wasn't here out of concern for him, that was for sure. But frankly, he couldn't be bothered to try and work it out. He had no energy for that.

'Where did you go?'

'The store in town. If I'm going to be staying here for a while I need something to eat. You junkies sure don't eat much, you hadn't got anything with you to live on. Scotch doesn't count, although I wouldn't say no to sharing some of that with you. I'll trade you for food.'

Jack couldn't help but give a humourless laugh at that. So typical! Con stared at him but didn't say anything. He stumped into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle and two old mugs and brought them back to the lounge. Jack still hadn't uncurled himself from the chair but he accepted the large drink that was poured for him without comment.

'So you didn't answer my question before Jack.'

'You asked a question?'

'Yeah, I did. Who're the girls in the picture? Your wife? Kid?'

Jack didn't answer. If he did, he'd have to explain about Teri being dead and Kim not wanting him anymore. He didn't want false sympathy off Con, didn't want to open up to him in any way. It would just get thrown in his face and it wasn't as though his brother meant anything to him anyway. He quickly searched his mind for a way to deflect the focus from the picture.

'You got any family?' He didn't care but it was the only thing he could come up with.

Conrad grinned and nodded his head enthusiastically. 'My wife Sheila and I just had our first! Jared's three months old now – he's a knockout. I left it so late, I never thought I'd get any kids but it's never too late, I know that now!'

Jack gave a weak smile to try and cover up the fact that his insides were curling up and dying, making him want to cry some more. He instantly recognised the look on Conrad's face – the sheer unbridled happiness that comes with having a baby, having a wife you love...he was transported in his head back to the day that Kim was born. He hadn't stopped grinning for a month...tears threatened to fall and he covered it by taking a long slug of scotch and holding his mug out for some more.

Conrad filled it silently and waited expectantly. Jack looked at him. 'What?'

He sighed. 'Your wife and daughter Jack, in the photo. What are their names? Tell me about them for Chris' sakes, if we're going to be here a few days we've got to talk about something.'

Jack glared at him again. 'I told you to leave! I'm not asking you to stay and if you do, you'll have to damn well mind your own business. I'm not spilling my guts to you just because you're here and you expect me to.'

Conrad just looked at him. The silence grew until it was oppressive and Jack was suddenly too beat to be indignant any more.

'Teri and Kim,' he muttered, hoping that there wouldn't be any follow up questions.

'They know you're up here?'

Jack shook his head and looked so miserable that Conrad decided not to push the issue.

'Well Jack...what do you do for a living?'

'Con....'

'C'mon Jack, for Pete's sake, it's a simple question. I'm trying here y'know?' Con cut him off and there was a strong note of exasperation in his voice. Jack found himself getting pissed off all over again.

'Look man, you don't know anything. To me, that's not a simple question. And I'm not asking you to try. You want to be useful, cook some food or something. Stop bothering me with inane shit. You don't care about my job, or my family and you don't know me at all, so leave it OK?'

'Well, maybe I'm trying to get to know you now....'

'Bullshit!! Don't try and play nice...' Jack stretched his legs out from under himself and sat straight in the chair. '....you're talking because you've got nothing to say. You don't give a fuck about me Con, I haven't seen you since I was fifteen – because that's the way you wanted it back then, remember? So don't try and act like it's time we had a big reconciliation. You don't want that and neither do I, so just get the fuck out of my face, alright?'

Con was rocked back in his seat from the venom in Jack's voice, the sheer rage. He couldn't think of a thing to say as he looked into the blue-green eyes opposite him, those eyes that were now filled with anger and pain – and hate. Yes, Jack was right – it was his fault that they'd been separated all this time. He'd split the family apart, and done it with full knowledge of what the consequences would be. He'd hated Jack back then, hated him completely and with a passion that scared him now he looked back on it. He'd been a thoroughly poisonous young boy and he deserved what Jack was saying to him now.

But that was years ago. He'd grown up. He was different and more mature – and he'd thought about Jack a lot through the years. Even contemplated trying to find him and make it up to him somehow. But shame had stopped him, even if he'd tried to deny to himself that it was shame he felt. He'd told himself that Jack wouldn't want to know about him, that his baby brother would be better off without him.

Obviously he wasn't. He had turned into a junkie. He probably didn't have a job, that's why he didn't want to talk about it. Maybe he'd been in jail. Where was his family though? Why wasn't his wife looking after him? Well, she'd probably divorced him when he picked up the habit and taken the kid with her or something. Maybe that was why Jack had been screaming her name like he wanted to kill her – he'd sat and watched for hours while Jack lived through the nightmares upstairs. He hadn't known who he was then, he'd waited with the shotgun resting across his knees in case this bum tried anything when he woke up. But now he knew who it was, he was intrigued. There seemed to be a whole lot of stuff that was bringing Jack down.

He sat still as Jack stood up and walked slowly outside. He felt bad. His brother really hated him – and he couldn't blame him. So...yeah, he would stay. He'd try and help and make it up to him somehow. Conrad believed in second chances – and maybe this was his. He looked at the unsteady figure of his brother through the window, as he stood and stared at the grass outside. Maybe it was Jack's too.


	12. Peace Part 12

Peace – Part 12

Jack paced around the clearing for a while, chain smoking and avoiding looking at the house. He was so pissed off he couldn't think straight. He'd had a plan, one that had a chance of working – and now Con was ruining it all just by being here. How the hell was he supposed to focus with that asshole hanging around, cluttering up the place? Jack cursed his bad luck as he walked around in circles, dragging on a smoke and occasionally taking a pull of scotch from the bottle he carried.

The heat finally got to him and he became aware of how tired he felt. It was nice though, being warm again, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been free of the cold chills that dogged him through withdrawal. He pulled off his thick sweater and tied it around his waist, then sat on the dry wood of the porch steps and leant against a post that supported the rusting tin roof. He closed his eyes and soaked up the sun, let his anger go. He was too tired to hang on to it. So be it. He'd wait until Con got bored and went away, then continue as planned. It wasn't as though he had to be anywhere, and surely his brother would have to leave eventually to get back to work or something. And he wouldn't want to be away from his new baby for any length of time. Yeah, he could wait. Conrad wouldn't be here long.

The fact that he was an uncle meant nothing to him, he wasn't surprised to find – but he couldn't help but dwell on the happy look on his brother's face when he'd told him about his son. It was a look of joyous bewilderment, worn by new fathers everywhere. He'd been just the same when Kim was born – becoming a father for the first time was nothing short of magical and he knew he'd never forget the amazing feeling of pride and overwhelming joy he'd felt when he'd first held his little girl in his arms. His first word had been a quiet 'Wow!' and then he'd turned to Teri, who had never looked more beautiful, and said softly 'Look what we did....'

She'd just smiled and he hadn't been able to say anything else because the tears of happiness had started and he'd just held Kim as she slept and.....Jack found his eyes brimming with tears again. That had been what he'd thought of when Teri had told him she was pregnant again. Even through everything that was happening that day, he'd remembered what it had felt like as soon as she'd told him and he couldn't wait to feel it again. He'd been so full of love back then, love for Teri and Kim, love for the new baby...and he'd felt loved too. He had mattered to people. Now, he just felt alone. Well, he _was_ alone. And rightly so, it wasn't as though he was worthy of anyone's attention right now. Maybe he could change that, get Kim back...if he couldn't he truly would rather die, he thought. There was no worse feeling than what he felt right at this moment which was unwanted and useless.

Jack closed his eyes and felt drowsy in the heat. This was the main reason he had started using heroin. The stuff in Mexico had been part of it – his mind still shied away from the memories of what he had had to do there – but it was the loneliness that made him keep using. At least when he was high, he didn't care about being on his own...he felt his throat tightening and his stomach clenching so he tried to stop thinking about drugs. He lit another cigarette and attempted to recall the nice dream he'd been having about Teri before Conrad woke him up, anything to distract his mind. He couldn't remember it though and now he'd brought up the memories of the day she died, that was all he could think about. The gut-wrenching realization that she was dead in his arms, the way her head had fallen back, the blood on her shirt, the fact that Nina had done it....it hit him like a train and Jack screwed up his eyes to try and block it out. But no, without the help of heroin he couldn't stop himself...

...he remembered having to break it to Kim, the way she'd looked at him blankly and denied it – repeating 'No....no!' over and over until he'd been driven crazy and had to grab her shoulders and look straight into her eyes and say 'She's dead Kim. She's been murdered....she's not coming back.' And then Kim had run out of the building and he'd been alone, truly alone, for the first time since she'd been born. There was no one for him to hold on to, he had no close friends at CTU even then...he remembered that he'd collapsed onto the floor and.....everything was a little hazy after that. Tony had tried to get him to go to hospital but he'd shoved him away and....no, he couldn't remember. Or he didn't want to. Maybe he'd gone a little mad, it was more than likely. Jack was unaware of the way he was gripping the bottle tightly in his hand now, in the present, his cigarette burned slowly, completely unnoticed and the ash grew longer and longer until it fell onto his boot.

There was the funeral. He'd held it together somehow - while everyone was there at least. Kim had stood between him and Carol, her face white, her eyes glazed with tears. He'd been like stone. It was as though if he talked to anyone the dam would break and he would go mad right there at the graveside. The choir had sang 'Ave Maria' in the church and it played in his head on a continuous reel, drowning out the people that came and shook his hand, put their hands on his back, told him they were sorry – he remembered it like he was watching a movie, as though it had happened to some stranger. The whole episode seemed unreal and he could almost believe it hadn't really happened, if it weren't for the indescribable pain that he remembered feeling after everyone had gone away.

They'd come back to the house for a while, someone had organised food – Teri was from an Irish family after all, and wakes were traditional. He was so angry at the way everyone could chat and eat and drink as though nothing had happened. He'd left and gone back to the graveyard. Flowers covered the site...there were some yellow ones that she'd really liked....dammit, what the hell were they called?! Her favourites....well anyway, he'd sat on the grass next to her. He wanted to feel close to her, talk to her like he used to. Maybe it would help. But he hadn't been able to think of a thing to say. There was no magical connection, no sudden feeling of hope that she could hear him, that she was there by his side. It was just him, sitting uncomfortably on wet grass, feeling water soak through his pants.... He had cried, he knew that. It was from shame as well as loss. He could still feel the shame now and it was worse than it had been even then. Because he hadn't been strong, he hadn't coped. He'd lost it for a full eighteen months. Then he'd saved LA from a nuclear bomb, escaped death more than once, met Kate, screwed that up completely and then become a heroin addict. And worse. Much worse. But Mexico was something he wasn't prepared to think about just yet.

There was no way he could deny the fact that he was a failure, even with all the things he'd accomplished in his job. As a man, he was a burnout. Weak. Pathetic. He'd been back to the graveyard, just once. It was one year after that day and he'd only gone because Kim had asked him to go with her. Oh sure, he'd thought about going before, many times. But he'd never been able to forget the emptiness he'd felt at the funeral and he was afraid that if he went back, he still wouldn't feel close to her. And that day with Kim he was able to hide from it by focusing on how she was coping and ignore the fact that all he saw when he looked at the grave was a slab of carved stone...there was no comfort to be had in that...

'Do you visit her grave?'

"Teri Bauer, beloved wife and mother....."

'Jack?'

What the hell were those yellow flowers called?

'Jack! Do you?'

He was snapped back to the present, his head swivelling round as he became aware of Conrad standing behind him.

'What?'

'Have you been to the cemetery since it happened?'

Jack gaped in confusion. How did he know? Had he been keeping tabs on him? If he knew about it, why had he asked what Teri's name was? How had....then it dawned on him what Con was talking about and suddenly he felt a cold chill run through him as he was taken back to something he had forced himself to forget. He opened his mouth to answer but his mind was blank, it seemed to have shut down somehow and all he could do was stare. Conrad looked down on him with a strange look on his face but Jack couldn't clear his mind long enough to think of a coherent response. He realised that his mouth was open so he dropped his face and desperately tried to get a grip. The hands holding the bottle were shaking and the dead stub of a cigarette fell from his fingers. He trod on it and ground it under his boot, trying to cover his confusion.

'What's the matter Jack? Drugs addled your brain? You still understand English, right?'

Jack didn't raise his head, just muttered softly 'Screw you Con.'

'Nice. Yeah bro, charming. I'm asking if you've ever had the decency to go visit our sister and all you can do is be rude. Jesus, what is your problem?!' He sounded really pissed off and Jack couldn't find the energy to strike back. He felt like he was drowning, Teri was taking over, the gravestone loomed in his mind as he tried to clear his thoughts...but of course, hers wasn't the first funeral he'd been to....

Conrad waited for him to speak and when he didn't he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. It was a trait they shared, though neither of them knew it. 'Jack listen to me. Are you high now? Did you shoot up after you got out of the shower? Because I've got to tell you, your behaviour is downright weird.'

'No! I didn't take anything. I'm not high, I'm trying to quit.' Jack's voice was weak and Con noticed that his face was white and he was shaking.

'You don't look very well. Is there something you can take to make it better?'

'I don't want anything. I feel alright. You just...took me by surprise, that's all. I was thinking about something.'

He gave a small smile and Conrad took that to mean that he was OK to talk. 'So do you go to the place?'

The smile disappeared. Jack didn't want to talk about this, desperation swelled inside his chest. He wanted nothing more than to run away, or die or something, anything, not to have to talk about this. But the emotions running through him had tired him out and he felt trapped and helpless. He gave up and shook his head.

'No I've never been.'

'Why not?'

Jack just shrugged.

'Hell, I go three or four times a year and I don't even live in LA! And Christ Jack....she wasn't just your sister, she was your twin. You really don't go? You've never been?' Conrad stared in disbelief at his younger brother, who was just staring at the ground. There was silence for a long minute and then Jack raised his head and stared forwards.

'Do _they_ still live in LA?'

Now it was Conrad's turn to go quiet. 'No. They....well, they both died Jack. They're buried with her.'

'Oh.' He didn't say anything else. Somehow, finding out that both of his parents were dead didn't mean very much. Of course he'd wondered about them, when he was working at CTU he'd even considered finding out about them. But then he remembered that they'd got rid of him, that they didn't care – so why should he? They'd died for him a long time ago while they were still alive, just as he had for them.

'I should have tried to find you for the funeral...' Con felt awkward saying it but he felt like he had to try and explain somehow. Jack didn't give him a chance though, he cut him off straight away.

'No. Its OK. I wouldn't have come anyway.'

Neither of them spoke for a while because it was difficult to know what to say. Jack was very aware of him sitting there but he didn't feel angry or defensive. He didn't really feel anything. He'd never thought he'd speak of his parents again so this was completely unplanned, and much less emotional than he'd thought it would be.

It was a little harder for Conrad. Their past weighed heavily on his mind and it was difficult for him to try and talk about the rest of their family without first clearing the air. But he could sense that Jack either didn't want to talk about it, or wasn't physically up to it at the moment so he tried to work around it as best he could.

'Mom went about a year after you left. You knew she was sick anyway. Dad lasted another ten years. Cancer got him in the end.'

Jack stayed silent. And then.... 'I didn't 'leave' Con. It wasn't my choice.'

'I know.' He wanted to say he was sorry but he couldn't. A bird sang loudly in the trees and there was the distant drone of a plane flying thousands of feet overhead. A breeze blew softly through the clearing and ruffled Jacks hair. Conrad was suddenly struck by the peace around them, and by how quiet Jack had become. His mind rewound through the conversation they'd just had and came to a stop as a realisation hit him.

'You didn't know who I was talking about did you? When I came out here. I asked you if you'd been to Savannah's grave and you were all confused. Then you told me you'd been thinking about something. Jack...look, forgive me if I'm wrong but...I'm not am I? Someone died.' He watched closely as a ripple of pain passed across the tired features beside him. 'You want to tell me about it?'

Jack shook his head.

'You sure?'

A nod. Con knew somehow that he shouldn't push this, some instinct told him that it would be the wrong move. He suddenly felt very bad. When they'd been talking earlier he'd called Jack a junkie several times, he'd jumped to the conclusion in his own head that he was probably divorced and had no job and was basically a waster. But now, it occurred to him that there was maybe more to it than he'd thought. He felt like he wanted to try and help – and yet he had to admit, there was part of him that didn't want to get into it. Part of him wanted to drive away and go back to his wife and son, go back to the easy life and stay away from all this mess.

But he looked at the stranger sitting next to him, staring into the trees and knew that he couldn't leave. He'd helped create this person. There was no way it could be otherwise. They'd been a happy family once, and he'd ruined it. Their sister had died and taken part of Jack with her – and Conrad had taken the rest, in the worst way imaginable. He suddenly felt like he wanted to cry as he watched the face of his brother, who sat so still and so completely lost in his own thoughts. There was a strength in those features, a resolution that Con knew he would never have and the realisation overwhelmed him in an instant. He became acutely aware as they sat there that Jack knew things he would never know – and he knew them because he'd been forced to learn on his own. And that was Conrad's fault and he could never change it...all of a sudden sitting there was too much and Con stood up and walked back into the house, his head swirling. He hadn't been prepared for this, any more than Jack had. And even though Jack was sick and didn't look like he could take much more strain, Conrad had the feeling that, somehow, his brother was going to deal with this a lot better than he was.


	13. Peace Part 13

Peace – Part 13

Jack woke up the next morning feeling stronger and more alert. As always, his first thought was on the next hit and he had to remind himself that he couldn't do that anymore. Then the familiar feeling of disappointment ran through him and put him in an edgy mood. He had discovered that there's nothing more annoying than denying yourself something when there's no immediate reason you have to. His brain constantly worked against him and told him that no one would even know if he took just a little bit – no one that mattered anyway. He could have a bit and then stop again, Kim would never know. Jack gritted his teeth and pulled himself out of his sleeping bag, heading to the bathroom to shower. He just wanted to be out of the room where the needle sat. He had wanted to constantly test himself by having it so near but now he was cursing that decision. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch and waking up with it on his mind – and in his eye line – was proving harder than he ever thought it would be.

It was only dawn. He had gone to sleep very early the day before because the emotional and physical stress he'd gone through had tired him so much. Plus, he wanted to sleep as much as possible – it would make the time go quicker and every new morning he woke up clean was a day further away from the last fix. The pain in his body would slowly go away – there was no evidence of it so far but he trusted that it would happen, he'd done this once before and it had then. Jack stood in the shower and tried to think ahead rather than behind, it was easier that way.

He had to admit though, yesterday with Conrad had been a bit of a help. They hadn't really talked much or anything but just having him there was serving quite well as a distraction. Being pissed off at him, or ignoring him or sometimes listening to what he was saying helped him to not dwell on things so much. But Jack was struck by something as he walked downstairs to get some breakfast – he was _supposed_ to be dwelling on things. Wasn't that what he had come here for? Yet every time a hard subject had even crossed his mind yesterday, he had blanked it out immediately, it was a self-protection reflex in him that he hadn't really noticed or questioned before. So maybe his first goal should be to try and get past that. If he was going to make any progress, he would have to overcome it at some point.

He walked into the kitchen and was surprised to see Con standing there making coffee and toast. His brother looked awake and was neatly turned out in jeans and a flannel shirt, as though being awake at this hour was a normal thing for him. Perhaps it was – Jack had no idea what his brother did for a living so maybe this was his regular schedule. He was a bit disappointed to find him there though, he'd felt like some time on his own. Early morning had always been his favourite part of the day.

'Hey. You're up early.'

'Morning Jack. How you doing?' Jack just shrugged and sat at the old breakfast bar, Conrad slid a plate with some toast on it down to him. 'You look a bit better actually.'

There wasn't really anything to say to that, so Jack just ate in silence. The situation was becoming a little awkward. He didn't want to open up to Conrad, he was just tolerating him – and Con obviously didn't know how to broach any serious subject because of everything that had happened between them. Jack had no intention of opening that particular can of worms, not yet anyway, and so there wasn't really anything left for them to speak about. It didn't really bother Jack, he liked the quiet, but Con seemed to feel like he should make an effort or something. Well he had to give him marks for trying if nothing else.

'I called Sheila last night after you'd gone to bed. I told her I was staying up here for a while.'

Jack raised his head and stared. 'Why? There's nothing for you to do here. Haven't you got a job you've got to go back to? And what about your kid?'

Con laughed, he seemed in a happy mood. Talking to his wife had obviously cheered him up. 'I can work here if I have to. And Jared won't miss me, he's only a baby.'

Jack remembered saying the same things to himself when Kim was that age. He'd had to leave often when he was in the army and he'd told himself that she wouldn't miss him. And then it became acceptable to leave for long periods of time, even when she was older – and now look where they were. He opened his mouth to say something and then realised that he was talking to someone he didn't know, so he shut it again. Let Con make his own mistakes, what was it to him anyway?

'So what's your job?' Jack said in a bored voice, he hated small talk but thought he'd better try.

'I own an internet company. We set up websites for large corporations, create networks, streamline systems that sort of thing. I'm pretty much retired nowadays actually, I leave most of it to my executives....' He didn't sound like he was bragging so Jack didn't bother getting annoyed with him but it was also clear that he wanted it known that he was successful. Maybe it was subconscious, using that front which all businessmen have to project an image to the world. Then again, maybe not. Maybe Con really was rubbing his nose in it. If so, he was a jerk. Jack didn't let any of these thoughts show on his face of course, and he was inwardly quite pleased that his mind seemed to be regaining some of its ability to analyse. It wasn't much, but it was progress.

Con was still talking in the background, he had obviously explained his road to good-fortune many times before and was now just reciting the spiel. 'Yeah I got in on the computer boom pretty early – well, late eighties. I took a job in Silicon Valley and....'

Jack tuned out and finished his breakfast. Then he lit a cigarette and thought about what he was going to do with himself for the day. Maybe he'd borrow the motorbike again, ride it around the lake. Seeing as he felt a bit better, it might do him good to get out of the house for a while.

'...so I figured I was tired of working for other people who were getting rich off my hard work and I decided to go into business for myself. That was fourteen years ago and I've never looked back....'

Conrad stopped talking abruptly, turned away and busied himself with washing some plates. Jack's focus only came back to the room whenever the babbling stopped, and he wondered why it had. What had he been talking about? Jack replayed the last sentence in his head....oh right, he was embarrassed because he'd 'never looked back'. Guilty conscious brother? And also...Jack did the math in his head. If their father had died when Con said he did...yeah, that was fourteen years ago. He laughed inwardly, enjoying the first real humour he'd felt in months. Conrad obviously thought that Jack would be upset because he set up the business with his inheritance. He couldn't know that Jack didn't give a damn about money, had more than enough of his own – and he wished he didn't have any at all. He was a rich man in his own right...Teri had had life insurance...

He stood up quickly, making the legs of the chair squeal against the tiled floor. Con looked around sharply, thinking that he'd worked it out and was upset. Jack smiled to let him know that he wasn't bitter about it and spoke to cover the silence.

'Well, at least the old man was useful to one of us. You sound like you've done well and made the most of what you were given. Can't blame you for that.' He stretched his stiff shoulder muscles and felt the joints pop quietly. 'I think I'm going to get some air. It's a bit stuffy in here.'

He walked outside and lit another smoke, still smiling. He didn't know why Con's attitude was making him laugh, it just was. And he had to admit, he'd enjoyed the little dig too. His brother could be in no doubt that Jack wasn't impressed with his personal fortune built off the back of another personal fortune. Their father had been a very rich man, he was a stockbroker. This house hadn't always been a wreck and their mother had never had to work at all. The home in Santa Monica had been huge and beautiful, and the old man had had no trouble affording the expensive military school he'd been sent to...

So no, Jack wasn't impressed by the inference of wealth that Conrad had subtly laid out. He and Teri had always worked and saved to get the home they had had and to provide the best for Kim and that was something to be proud of. He'd had no help.

The inner laughter stopped suddenly when Jack realised out of the blue why his brother had been ever-so-slightly smug in there. It was a shock when, as clear as day, he saw what Con saw when he looked at him, and the clarity of the thought was like having a bucket of iced water thrown over him. He was someone who'd been thrown out of home, sent to a military academy for three years and then left to fend for himself. And now he was forty years old with track marks on his arms. Con didn't know about the army, or CTU and Teri and the nice house and car and the government salary with benefits. He didn't know that Jack was pretty good at investing and had been very well off even before Teri's death made him half a million dollars wealthier. Well, it didn't actually – he'd immediately put it into an account for Kim. She'd get it when she was twenty five, but she didn't know that yet.

Jack leant on the side of his SUV and felt like a punctured football. He had no right to laugh at Conrad's superior attitude – and to be fair, the man hadn't pushed it. He had every right to feel smug anyway, he may not have earned the money that got him started himself but he took it and made more of it - and to him it must seem that Jack made the most of what he had too...what was that saying? 'I started with nothing and still have most of it left'. Yeah, that about summed it up actually. That's exactly how it must look.

He was suddenly bursting with the desire to march into the house and set the record straight. He wanted to make it clear that this wasn't how it had always been with him – he hadn't been a waster forever. He _had_ made something of himself once, he'd worked hard and had built a life out of nothing. There had been a family and a home...and at work he'd saved lives, served his country his whole adult life. Had Con ever done that? Hell no!

Jack was just about to go and firmly explain this when he remembered that – yes, he'd saved lives. But he'd taken a lot as well. The childish desire to prove himself equal to his brother died as quickly as it had flared inside him. Who cared anyway? Let him think what he liked. If it made Con feel good to look down on him, shit – he'd tell him a few more things that would _really_ prove how worthless he was and then the guy could be as smug as he wanted. Jack slid down the car and sat on the grass, leaning on a wheel on the shady side of the vehicle. Jesus, what was it with this guy? Everything he said provoked an emotion of some sort, it was like being constantly prodded with a sharp stick. And it wasn't even that he was really trying for a reaction – Con was just talking and he was the one blowing it up in his head and making it complicated. Jack chuckled and let it go. It wasn't worth it.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Conrad finished drying the plates and mugs and then threw the cloth down on the counter in frustration. God, Jack was hard work! There was just no give in him, everything got thrown back in his face. He'd realised his mistake as soon as he'd said it, he hadn't meant to make Jack feel bad at all. He supposed it must seem like he had been bragging though – Jack clearly didn't have much. Well, apart from that state of the art SUV parked outside. And a large quantity of heroin that couldn't have come cheap. He knew nothing about drugs or what they cost, but he figured they were expensive. So how had he afforded them? Maybe he was a dealer, that way he'd be able to lay his hands on a large supply and it would certainly make him rich enough to be able to afford the car. Con was curious but how the hell was he supposed to ask? 'Cool car Jack – tell me, how the hell did you manage to pay for it....?' No, that wouldn't work.

He shouldn't care. He should just leave and let him get on with whatever he was doing up here. But at the same time – he was one of the people that _should_ care. Lord knows where the others were. He sighed and walked outside. He'd keep trying. Something was telling him not to walk away. Maybe it was the fact that he'd just become a father – it made him realise that family was important. That was a lesson that hadn't played a big part of his childhood, but he wanted to teach it to his son. He should practice what he was planning on preaching, so he wouldn't give up yet.

He stood at the front door and saw Jack sitting on the ground. His head was back, leaning on the side of the van and his eyes were closed. His face was free of tension and he was less pale than he'd been for the last couple of days. He looked a little younger actually, and more relaxed. But the truck loomed over him as he sat next to it and that made his slight frame seem even smaller. Con was reminded of him as a boy, when he would complain about not being as tall as other kids in the class. Their father had told him that speed was better than size and at least he'd be able to run away from any trouble – because 'a runt like you wont be able to stand up for yourself anyway.' Con had been in the room when he'd said that and he had seen the way Jack's face had crumbled, he'd teased him when he'd run from the room in tears. He'd enjoyed teasing him too, as he recalled.

And then a week later a group of football jocks had tried to bully him, they'd backed him into a corner after school and were pushing him around – he'd tried to take them all on at once. Six stitches in his forehead was the result of that little show of bravado, but Con clearly remembered the teacher who'd broken it up telling their father that Jack was still fighting while three of them were kicking him on the ground. He was only twelve.

Con would never have admitted it at the time, but he was sort of proud of Jack for that. Their father had waited for the stitches to come out, then slapped him hard across the face. He'd said that Jack was a fool and that he'd told him he wouldn't be able to look after himself – what the hell had been thinking? Con had stared at Jack as the handprint faded on his cheek and their dad went back to his newspaper – he'd just stood in the same spot for ten minutes, his face blank. Then he'd whispered 'Alright then' and seemed to forget about it. But he'd been different, quieter, after that – not the boisterous kid he'd been before. Conrad had spent the next few years wondering what had gone through his head during those ten minutes, Jack had been hard to figure out even then. It seemed he still was.

Suddenly, it didn't seem so hard to say what he wanted to say. He'd wanted to apologise yesterday but if he was honest with himself, he wouldn't have really had his heart in it. It would have been a comment to fill the space – but looking at him sitting there, so skinny and drawn, Conrad realised that he felt sorry for him. Whatever had happened in his life, it was because he'd had a bad start. And maybe he could help to make it better. For all his past misdemeanours, Conrad wasn't a bad man and compassion filled him now as his large boots crushed the blue grass outside the house.

'Mind if I join you?'

Jack didn't open his eyes, he just shrugged.

'Look, I just want you to know that I wasn't trying to be a bastard in there. I didn't think about what I was saying, I know how it must have sounded.'

'It's alright. I really don't care.'

'Also...' Conrad wrestled with the words. He wanted them to come out right. '...Jack, I'm really sorry. For what happened I mean. It was my fault and I was a little jerk back then. You didn't deserve it. I...' He broke off. It sounded stupid even to himself, but he really did mean it. There was no reaction from Jack at all and the silence was suddenly deafening. It lasted a minute or so, getting worse all the time and Conrad squirmed in embarrassment as Jack just continued to sit quietly. When he spoke it was in a neutral monotone.

'OK.'

And that was it. Conrad stared.

'That's all you can say?'

Jack eventually moved. He raised his head off the car and looked at his brother with cool blue eyes. His tone of voice didn't change one bit. 'Conrad, I don't think you realise just exactly how little that means to me. What did you expect? For me to cry and hug you and all of a sudden we'd be brothers again? Well, sorry but no. I haven't given you a thought for more years than I can remember now – what makes you think that I give a damn if you're sorry or not?'

Conrad's face turned red, he was embarrassed and flustered and covered it badly. 'You're a hard bastard, you know that?' he muttered.

Jack's lips curled into a tiny smirk. 'Yes.' Con found himself locked in that icy gaze and he couldn't pull away. He was almost scared – Jesus, this guy was cold! The moment was broken by the movement of a rabbit on the edge of the trees and he could finally get away from that stare. He studied the ground to hide his confused thoughts and mumbled,

'Well...OK well...never mind. I just thought I'd say it.' He looked away into the trees and tried to think of what to say next as Jack let his head rest against the car again, his body relaxed. And then Conrad started to get a little pissed off. It was probably a reaction to Jack dismissing him so easily, but still, where did this little junkie piece of shit get off talking to him like that anyway? What, he was so superior? He should be grateful that he was bothering to stay with him at all.

'Jack, why are you a heroin addict?' No harm in reminding him who was in worse shape here....but to his surprise, Jack didn't look ashamed or angry, he still didn't move or even open his eyes. He just sat there and that same calm, even voice said,

'Because I've seen and done things that would make you want to crawl under a rock and die.'

Nothing more. Conrad gaped helplessly, more confused and intrigued than ever. And at that moment he had no trouble believing that Jack was telling nothing but the truth and once again, he found himself wondering just exactly who the hell this man was.


	14. Peace Part 14

Peace – Part 14

Jack opened his eyes, leant forward and ran his hands through his hair. Conrad was still standing there, just staring at him and it was starting to get on his nerves. He was surprised by the look on his face though, it was puzzlement and a little fear. Part of him felt good about that but part of him was a little ashamed too.

He sighed and resigned himself to the fact that for the moment at least, Con wasn't going anywhere. It was going to get _really_ annoying if he just stood around looking bewildered all day so Jack decided to make things a bit easier.

'Let's get drunk.'

'What?' The uneasiness on the face turned into surprise. 'Jack, its 8am.'

'So what? You got something better planned for today?'

The truth was, Jack was getting jittery and he wanted something to calm him down. He knew that substituting one drug for another wasn't really a good idea, but it wasn't as though alcohol was any worse than the other. And if he could beat heroin on his own, giving up the drink when he got back to LA should be a breeze.

He pulled himself up off the ground slowly and did a few basic stretches to try and ease the stiffness in his muscles. Con didn't say anything and Jack assumed that he wasn't going to come and join him. But when he headed towards the house Conrad followed dubiously, obviously reluctant but at a loss as to what else to do.

Jack grabbed three bottles and settled down in one of the old armchairs. He poured a full mug and handed it to his brother, who took it silently and sat down opposite him. Con sipped slowly, eyeing Jack over the rim, and watching as he poured half a mugful straight down his throat without flinching. Despite himself he was kind of impressed.

'Where'd you learn to drink like that?'

Jack topped himself up and sat back. 'Mexico.'

'What were you doing in Mexico?'

The blue eyes fixed on him coldly but all he said was 'Working with some people. I had to learn to keep up with them and their tequila pretty fast. No room for wimps down there.' He smiled without humour and lapsed into silence.

Con sighed inwardly. Fuck it. Drinking this early in the day was going to make him sick as hell but it wasn't like he had anywhere he had to be. Sheila wasn't here to bend his ear over it and it might even be a good thing. He had nothing left to talk to Jack about, he was embarrassed to admit, and there was nothing that was easy between them. Maybe getting drunk together would help to break down some barriers. Probably not, if Jack's reticence so far was anything to go by, but it was worth a try. And anyway, what else was there to do? Con chugged the rest of his drink and held it out to Jack for a refill, keeping his face calm and relaxed on the outside, while inside he tried not to throw up.

Jack laughed, he couldn't help it. His brother's eyes were watering, his face was tight and his throat was constricting – he obviously wasn't a heavy drinker. He was trying so hard to hide it though, Jack didn't say anything, he just refilled the mug and thought to himself sadistically that this could end up being entertaining. He let his head rest against the back of the chair and instead of turning inward, he found himself studying Con from behind half-closed eyes. He hadn't thought too much about it so far - he hadn't been well enough - but now that he was feeling a little better he could try and work out rationally what his brother wanted from him.

There was only one thing it could really be. He was feeling guilty and now he'd come across Jack, he was going to bug him until he had appeased his conscience. What a drag. Jack's mind rebelled against the rogue thought that crossed it, telling him to let Conrad say his piece and maybe it would be for the best. Why should he? It wasn't as though his brother had tried to find him before and there was nothing stopping him. He didn't live that far from LA. It was only by pure chance that they'd ended up here together – the difference was, he supposed, that Con had somehow decided that he was going to take the opportunity and make amends, whether he wanted him to or not.

Jack really just wanted to ignore him. He couldn't stand the thought of letting Conrad see that he'd hurt him all those years ago, he couldn't bear to open those wounds again. He'd managed to put it all behind him, mainly thanks to Teri but she wasn't here to help him this time. He was three days clean, bone-weary and not up to resisting all the emotions it was bound to bring up.

But strangely, he didn't feel like it was the emotions he was backing away from. There was a little part of his mind telling him that it would feel good to get rid of the burden and that was what he wanted, that was the reason he'd made this trip. No, what he was shying away from was the effort involved in resisting feeling it all in the company of his brother. There was _no way_ in the world he would give him the satisfaction of seeing him without the walls up. And the idea of staying strong for days on end was a horrible one right now, he wanted nothing more than to be able to curl up into a ball and cry if he wanted to, to shout and throw things and vent properly – and fucking Conrad was spoiling all that.

He made up his mind as he watched the face sitting opposite him, which was currently trying not to show that it didn't like scotch at eight in the morning. He'd use the same technique as he had in rehab. He would listen to what the man had to say, convince him that it was alright and then Con would leave and he could get on with his own thing. He had to get rid of him, he suddenly felt it desperately. He was crowding him just by being here, invading his space, stopping him healing. Jack was edgy enough that morning and suddenly the presence of another person within six feet of him was setting his teeth on edge and making his skin crawl. It was like having a really bad toothache that consumed your head and made you crazy while someone expected you to chat about the weather or something. In those situations, you just want to hit them to get them to shut up and that was what Jack wanted to do now, even though no one was saying a word.

He threw another few mouthfuls of liquor down his throat to take the violent impulse away. It burned a little but not much, he was too used to it. It took a lot to get him drunk under normal circumstances but he was aware that his body wasn't as strong as it usually was. He stared at Con coldly and decided to get it over with.

'Why were you mad that I hadn't been to the grave?'

Conrad noted the harsh tone, the stony face and the cold look in the eyes and wisely decided not to be confrontational. 'Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I'm in no position to judge, I know. I should have thought before I spoke. It was just that, well, she was our sister. Y'know?'

Jack rolled his eyes. 'Yes Conrad, I do know.' He was pissed off that he didn't get a harsh response, the idea of a good row was quite appealing all of a sudden. He forced eye contact and stared hard and was angry to see that Con wasn't responding in kind, his brown eyes held no anger. He looked more confused than anything else and that just wound Jack up some more. He flung himself out of his chair, ignoring the scream of his protesting muscles in his desperation to get some distance and keep his temper in check.

'What's the matter Jack?'

He ignored the plaintive question and stalked over to the window. He wanted to see some open space. Unfortunately the back porch was half collapsed and wooden beams and corrugated iron obscured the view of the open grass at the rear of the house. All Jack could see was the broken remnants of something that used to be whole and he fought the impulse to punch out the window in frustration. He couldn't stop his outburst.

'You! You're the matter! You sit and stare at me all fucking day. What is it you _want_? You've already apologised and you claim to mean it and I said 'OK'. What else is there? I really want you to just leave me alone, instead I have to put up with you watching me all the time as if I'm some kind of freak show! Jesus Con, just _get lost_!'

He turned back to the window, breathing heavily and Conrad could see that he was fighting with himself. He supposed that it was the drugs talking, even if he hadn't taken any recently they were still having their way with him. The drinking couldn't have been helping either, nor could his emotional state which clearly wasn't 100. Suddenly Conrad thought of a way that might get him to open up.

'I'm not going anywhere Jack, I've told you already. I'm not leaving until I know that you're not going to do something stupid. More stupid than things you've already done I mean.' He injected some malice into his voice and Jack spun round and glared at him.

'Yeah, look at you. You can't bear to hear me point it out to you, can you? You're nothing. You're a junkie piece of shit – and you've got the nerve to yell at _me_? You've run away to be on your own because...'

'Shut up...' His voice was low, menacing.

'No, I wont. What are you doing here Jack? And what was wrong with you yesterday? Who's grave were you thinking of? Did you kill someone Jack? Is that what that was about?' He got out of his seat and took a few steps towards his brother.

'Conrad...'

'Have you been in prison? Is that where you picked up the habit?' A few more steps.

'I mean it, shut your mouth...' Jack was breathing hard, his fists clenched and his body taut, ready to strike as Conrad moved his body within arms length.

'Or maybe you're a dealer...is that it? That would explain how you managed to afford that car out front. It would also explain why your wife and kid don't know where you...'

The punch came out of nowhere, so fast that Con didn't see Jack move. He reeled with the blow but he was a big man and didn't go down. He straightened up only to get hit with another, and then two more as he staggered backwards. The world turned a bit grey then but he felt Jack reach out and grab him by the lapels and sweep his standing leg, the one that was supporting his weight. He went down with a crash and was dimly aware of Jack's knee cutting into his bicep as he pinned him to the floor. The other knee dug into his solar plexus with all Jack's weight behind it, making Con gasp for breath, and a forearm went across his jaw, pushing his head to one side, flat against the wooden floorboards making it impossible for him to move.

The whisper in his ear was the thing that scared him the most though, and even though he was partially stunned Conrad heard every word as clear as a bell.

'Don't. You. _Ever,_ talk about my family again, you hear me you piece of crap? Of all the people in the world to talk about that...' the pressure on his chest increased and Con gasped '...you don't know _anything_ about me and all the pushing in the world won't get me to talk to you. So drop it or next time you wont get to walk away...'

Jack released him suddenly and Conrad immediately curled up in pain, fighting for breath. He went back to staring out of the window, feeling better now that he'd been able to vent. He lit a cigarette and took a drink and actually grinned – at least he hadn't forgotten how to fight! He ignored the laboured breathing from the floor behind him until he heard his name whispered painfully.

'Jack...?'

'What?' He didn't bother to turn around.

'Bite me. You can kick my ass all you want but you know I'm right...'

Jack spun round, took two strides and kicked Conrad squarely in the head. He was knocked out immediately and Jack stood over him with a murderous look on his face, itching to beat up on him some more. He found himself wishing that he was carrying his gun...

...he shook himself mentally. What? What was that? He wanted his gun? He looked down at his brother and pain flashed across his face, suddenly his anger died and he just felt sick. Christ! For a second there, he really had wished he...

He checked that his brother's airway wasn't blocked and left him there, he went to sit out on the front porch. He looked at his hands which were starting to bruise and swell already – and worse, they were trembling uncontrollably. He clenched them together to try and get them to stop but then realised that his whole body was shaking. The adrenaline died and Jack felt cold and weak and sick...for a second there, he had been taken back to Mexico. Another man at his feet, unconscious – only that time he had had his gun. He'd looked up to Ramon, who had nodded – and he'd pumped two bullets into the guys head. Just a man that the Salazar's had wanted dead, for some unfathomable reason - after a while he had stopped trying to remember exactly what petty misdemeanour they were all guilty of.

He'd had to kill many like that while he was trying to gain the brothers' trust. This one was worse though – the others had all been fighting, they'd all been awake and yelling and trying to live. This one was just lying there, unconscious – Jack had never done that before. The man presented no threat and killing him achieved no ends. And yet Jack pulled the trigger, just because he was told to. And then...Lord, it made him want to throw up to think about it...two of Hectors' men had dragged him into a sitting position against a wall. For some reason, it was important that he wasn't easily identifiable...who knew why....and Ramon had handed him a shotgun and he'd taken it and walked up to the corpse, held the gun a foot away from his face and pulled the trigger...

Jack leant forward and retched between his knees, the memory of all the blood and brain matter too much for him. He could see it as clearly as if it had just happened, he rubbed his face to clear the chunks of skull that had landed there...

...he couldn't clear the image from his head and found himself crying. He just wanted it all to go away...when was this going to end? This was almost worse than the withdrawal, there was no escape from this, nothing to look forward to. When did it start getting better? What did he have to do? He wrapped his arms around his stomach and tried to get the tears under control, desperate for anything to come and end this hopelessness. The image of the dead guy was replaced with the thought of what waited for him upstairs, still calling his name...

He was distracted by his brother, who gingerly walked out of the house and sat down silently next to him as he cried. Jack hastily wiped his face but he couldn't quite seem to get control. Conrad waited patiently until he finally pulled himself together and then said quietly and simply...

'Talk to me Jack.'

Jack looked out into the trees and became aware of the heat of the sun on his face. He glanced up to the clear blue sky where there wasn't a cloud to be seen. It was a beautiful day and he suddenly let go, released the thoughts of heroin and relaxed inside, stopped struggling.

'Alright Con...'

Why not? He could fight again tomorrow...


	15. Peace Part 15

Peace – Part 15

Part of Jack instantly regretted what he'd just said but the rest of him just knew it was the right thing to do. He didn't know if he believed in fate or not but that didn't matter – his brother was here and wasn't leaving. And it might help him. The one thing Jack knew for sure was that he couldn't keep struggling to keep all his walls in one piece – Con just kept knocking them down, even if he didn't know he was. And Jack didn't have the energy to constantly put them back up again.

And Jack was scared too. He'd just beaten the crap out of someone and been thinking of Mexico and he was 90 sure that if Con hadn't come out when he did, he'd be getting high right now. He hadn't realised quite how much he'd been using heroin to stop himself thinking about things – well, he probably knew it when he first started using but since then it had just become a habit. So maybe his plan hadn't been so strong after all…had he really thought he'd be able to sift through all his guilt and bad memories and be able to stay clean as well? Well, that had been the idea, it was as much a test of himself and his strength than anything else.

But perhaps staying alive and seeing Kim again was more important than being a tower of strength right now. After all…Jack smirked at himself…he wasn't. He was a mess. Maybe the strongest thing he could do was try and put himself back together and worry about everything else afterwards.

It was a blow to his pride, no doubt about it. But who cared about that? Jack had to admit that he did. He didn't like it, but he did care…but now was not the time to stroke his own ego.

'So, your wife…' Jack cut him off by shaking his head.

'No, I don't want to talk about that. Not yet. Maybe not at all. It's…difficult….' He trailed off and Con tried again.

'Well OK – then tell me about the drugs Jack. You were always so smart, how the hell did you get on to them? And heroin of all things!'

Jack stared straight ahead, not trusting himself to look at Conrad. If he did he might lose his nerve. He didn't want to see pity or sympathy – or even understanding – in those eyes. He just wanted to speak for a while, stop the thoughts that endlessly circled his head. Maybe if he said them out loud they'd stay up here in the open air and he could leave them behind. That was what he wanted.

'It's complicated Con. It's to do with my job.' He hesitated. 'I work for the Government.'

There was no response and he still didn't want to look at his brother so he continued, not seeing the expression of surprise on his face.

'I'm a field operative for an agency called CTU – Counter Terrorist Unit. I was working in Mexico with some people in the drug world and…it just sort of happened.'

'It just sort of happened?' Conrad's voice was sceptical and Jack couldn't blame him for sounding that way. He knew it was a lame explanation.

'Yeah. Sort of. There were a lot of reasons.'

'Well…OK.' Con thought he'd better let him carry on in his own way but Jack seemed lost in his thoughts. After a minute or so of him staring into the trees, Con prompted him. 'What sort of things do you do? They must be bad to make you do drugs.'

'We find terrorists and stop them.' Jack rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, he felt uncomfortable explaining this stuff. 'You'll have heard of some of the things we did. It was CTU that found the nuclear bomb in LA three and a half years ago and flew it out of the city.'

'You had a part in that?' Con sounded genuinely shocked, and quite impressed too. Jack didn't want to fully go into his role in that day, he was having trouble concentrating. Something kept playing through his mind, demanding attention. It was like hearing that music box in his nightmares, it wouldn't go away…

'Yeah.' He lapsed back into silence and Conrad didn't quite know what to say.

'Are you OK Jack?'

'Hmmm? Oh…yeah. Anyway…what did you ask?'

'I was asking about the drugs.'

Jack suddenly stood up and started pacing around. It was hard for him to talk about what started him on heroin. He'd told himself over and over that it was all about losing Teri and Nina's betrayal and not being able to deal with what had happened in Mexico. But the thing was…the thing was, it wasn't just that at all. There were other things, everyday things that went with the territory of being a field operative in CTU – but they had all been playing on his mind. Some more than others. There was one thing in particular, something that had started on the day of the nuke threat. And it was that that was bothering him now, it had been bothering him for a long time. He hadn't told another living soul about it and he couldn't decide what to say to Conrad, a stranger who was also his brother…

He stopped pacing and looked down at the man sitting on the porch steps. His face was starting to swell and there were a couple of nasty gashes on his cheekbones and above his eyes where Jack's punches had split the skin. He was going to have two huge black eyes and yet, there he was, sitting and waiting and even though he must be in pain, he wasn't talking about it. He was just listening. Jack felt bad - and small, like he was a kid again who'd done something stupid. Something he knew he should be punished for but for some reason he wasn't, which just made him feel worse. Jack sighed. Guilt again. Always the guilt. It felt like it was the only emotion he recognised anymore.

'The truth is Con, I've done some things I'm not proud of. Some things I've done have been necessary, some stupid, others....just wrong. And I got to a point where I just didn't recognise myself at all. I had no idea how I'd become this person. I remembered how I was when I was younger and my life made sense to me…and then, five years ago everything just went crazy and turned upside down and somewhere along the way I got lost and….'

He realised from the confusion on Conrad's face that he wasn't making any sense and this just added to his agitation. Suddenly he really wanted to make him understand, he felt a desperate need to make the situation clear. But he couldn't find the right words and that just wound him up even more.

'What I mean is…have you ever had a situation where you do something and then afterwards you can't believe that you were capable of it? And then you start to question whether it was right and…' he trailed off again as his brother only looked even more puzzled.

'I have actually Jack. I know that feeling. But I don't understand what you're getting at. Are you saying that…well, I don't really know what you're saying if I'm honest…'

Jack stared and felt something like panic inside him. He had to make him see! There was something he'd never talked about and it had been driving him crazy since Mexico. Since before Mexico but…

'There was a kid.'

'Your kid? Your daughter?'

'No no. Not Kim. It was the day of the nuclear threat. Con…' he stopped abruptly. How was he going to explain this?

'Just say it Jack.'

'You have to understand something first. The bomb was going to go off in the city – this was all over the news, you know about it yeah?'

'Yes of course. Middle Eastern terrorists smuggled a bomb in. It was found – by you guys, I now know– and flown out of the city. It blew up in the desert and the pilot died, I forget his name. It had to be taken away because there was no way to disarm it. That's what the news said, was it true?'

Jack nodded vigorously. 'Yeah that's all true. And the pilots name was George Mason. He was a good man. But anyway…the guy in charge of bringing the bomb in was a Muslim. He wouldn't tell us where it was, when it was supposed to go off, nothing. And it what imperative that he talked, he was the only person that could help us stop it. There was literally no one else.'

'And he did. You found it.'

'Yes but….' Jack broke off and wasn't sure if he was able to continue. How could he explain to Con what he'd had to do to Sayed Ali? That part of what he'd done still gave him nightmares?

'But what?'

'We had to threaten him. You have to understand – religious fanatics are not afraid of death. In fact, they welcome it. To die at the hands of their perceived enemy guarantees them even more pleasure in Paradise, that's what they believe.'

'Are you telling me you used force on him Jack?' Con didn't know what went on in interrogation rooms in government buildings – but he'd seen the movies.

Jack stared into the distance and nodded his head, wondering if he should really continue and say what he really wanted to say. Con was a bit shocked at this much information – no one really thought that sort of thing went on. There were rules for government employees, surely?

'Well, I guess….if that's what was necessary to stop a nuclear bomb – I suppose that's justified' he said slowly, not sure if he actually meant it or not.

'But it didn't work Con. I personally beat the crap out of him for an hour – he still wouldn't talk. We had to…use other means.'

Conrad was suddenly not sure he wanted to hear this. He was beginning to feel sorry he'd asked Jack to talk, sorry he'd stayed at the cabin at all. When he'd came out here after the fight, he'd been expecting a sob story about how Jack's life had been crap since he was kicked out of the family, how he'd turned to drugs to hide his pain etc etc…not this. He hadn't been expecting to hear that his little brother had a decent, important job – even if he was just a minion within an agency. He wasn't ready to hear that the US Government tortured prisoners and what really had to be done to stop that nuclear bomb. His face was starting to really ache and there was pain in his side when he breathed – and this was all coming out of the blue, and he really didn't want to hear it.

But he couldn't stop Jack now. It would be wrong to get him to try and open up and then back away once he'd started. Con tried to push all the doubts out of his mind, and refocused his attention on his brother.

'We contacted some people in the middle east. The man was from Saudi Arabia – and that's where his family lived.' Conrad's stomach dropped into his shoes when added the last part. He finally had an inkling where Jack was going with this…

'We sent special forces guys into the man's house, captured his wife and two sons. Tied them to chairs and turned a video camera on them…'

'Jack…' Conrad was suddenly desperate for him to stop, he didn't want to know any more. The clearing outside the house seemed to be silent and dead, it was as though time had stopped as Con struggled to find a way to get off this subject. But Jack couldn't hear him, he was miles away, his voice a monotone and his face devoid of any emotion.

'I told the man that we were going to kill his family if he didn't talk. He didn't believe me – but he was scared. And then... I got a phone call. It was from someone important and he told me that I wasn't allowed to hurt the family.'

'So you didn't?'

'We staged it. Pretended to shoot one of the boys – he was eleven years old. The man cracked and told us what we wanted to know, he told us where the bomb was.'

Con sighed a huge sigh of relief and the world seemed to start up again. He almost laughed at himself for being so worried – he was right, those sorts of dreadful things didn't really happen. The government had some limits after all. He looked up at Jack with a smile.

'So it was OK? You got the information and didn't really have to hurt anyone, no one important anyway. The guy who knew about the bomb deserved a beating. So what's so wrong with that? You mentioned a kid when I asked you about the drugs….'

Jack stopped him by turning at staring at him. The look on his face was awful – it was pain and anger and horror all at once - and words died in Conrad's throat. The blue eyes bored into his and suddenly the fear returned….

'Jack?'

'I asked you earlier if you'd ever been in the position where you can't believe you were capable of something until it was over.' He paused. 'The phone call was from the President. He was personally intervening – and if he hadn't, I would have ordered that boy killed. And his little brother. And their mother. I would have done whatever it took to find that bomb and get it out of LA. That's what I was talking about. I had no clue I was ever capable of such a thing – but I would have done it.' He stopped and stared at the ground, while Conrad gaped in shock and horror.

'It's haunted me. What sort of a man am I? And there were a lot of reasons for me to start taking drugs – this was just one example of the things I've done that made heroin seem like a good option to me.' He looked up at the white face and wide eyes of his brother. 'So does that answer your question?'

Conrad didn't say a word. He didn't know what to say. Jack looked at him for a moment, awaiting a response – and when he didn't get one his head dropped and he walked silently into the house alone.


	16. Peace Part 16

Peace – Part 16

Jack walked through the kitchen to the lounge, grabbing a half-empty bottle of scotch on the way. He sat down heavily and took a few gulps before staring dejectedly at the carpet.

This was one of the reasons he never spoke to anyone about stuff that bothered him. Every time he did he ended up feeling stupid afterwards. Either embarrassed that he'd revealed so much of himself or empty because he'd said something that was important to him and the other person just hadn't understood it. He saw Con's face in his minds eye – the shock and horror on it – and cursed himself. Why was he so stupid! He'd never told a soul about the original plan for Sayed Ali's family – why did he choose to tell it to his estranged brother who didn't have a hope of understanding the motivation behind it. Why did he spill his guts to a complete stranger?

He wasn't bothered that Conrad might think badly of him. It wasn't as though he thought that highly of him before. But it was just….Jack sighed and tried to order his thoughts. He couldn't though, he just felt empty and embarrassed. In the end he gave up trying to make sense of what he was thinking, and just shoved the whole situation away.

'Fuck it. He asked. If he didn't like the answer, screw him.' With that he felt a little better and went back to drinking, ignoring the pleas of his empty stomach. He was starving but simply couldn't be bothered to get up and make something to eat. Whiskey would just have to do.

Conrad sat and tried to digest what he'd just heard. Strangely, the thing he was most fixated on at the moment was the fact that the President had called Jack. It seemed odd that his brother was someone who would take a phone call like that – shouldn't that be the domain of someone higher up the ladder? He corrected himself there – he didn't know for sure what Jack's position was. But he couldn't believe he had that much responsibility, the man was a junkie! And although he'd offered the tale as a reason behind the fact that he did drugs, to Con it just all seemed outlandish and unbelievable. He lived in a safe suburban world where the hardest decision revolved around whether he and Sheila could justify buying a villa in Europe or which school to send Jared to when he was old enough. And now he was faced with the stories of his brother, tales of torture and nuclear threats and killing Saudi Arabian children. Con believed that Jack was telling the truth, he just couldn't get his head around it. He had no frame of reference that would make it seem real.

He sighed and rested his elbows on his knees to ease the pressure on his ribs. He would be more comfortable sitting in one of the comfortable chairs in the lounge – but Jack was in there and Con was afraid of what he might hear next. He had to admit that he was intrigued by it all but it made him feel uneasy too. He opened his eyes and looked at his surroundings, the beautiful scenery seemed tarnished somehow. As though knowledge of ugliness took the shine off everything. 'How can he live like that?' he wondered to himself. 'If it's all true, how can a person live with making that sort of choice? How can people walk around, knowing that things they do might result in the death of others?' The answer came to him in a sudden flash of understanding. In Jack's case, it seemed he dealt with it by getting high.

The realisation brought no feeling of compassion. Conrad was a little disappointed actually. If events got to him that much, why didn't Jack just quit? Surely it would be better than the alternative he'd chosen? He thought about it some more and it still didn't make any sense. He sighed again. If he wanted to understand, the only way was to find out more. And he wasn't sure he wanted to really. But they were both here, and he couldn't walk away now. The only way anything good would come out of this time was if he managed to sort out the past with Jack – and if that meant listening to horrific tales, so be it. Conrad steeled himself, stood up and walked into the house.

Jack heard the approaching footsteps and quickly drank some more scotch. He was expecting an outburst from his brother and condemnation for what he'd said. So he was very surprised when Con took a seat and just said evenly,

'So how did you come to work for the Government?' He stared at Con, his brain quickly trying to work out any hidden meaning in the question. Did he really want to know? Was he simply making conversation? Or was he trying to reach some conclusion about him based on the choices he had made? Jack couldn't figure it out based on Con's expression so he just took the question at face value.

'I went into the Army after I got my Masters. Then I…'

He was interrupted by Con asking 'You have a Masters degree?' He sounded shocked.

'Yes.' He waited but Con didn't say anything. 'Why? What's wrong with that?'

'Well nothing….I'm just…surprised…From which school?'

'UC Berkley.' Jack enjoyed the feeling of satisfaction that ran through him when he saw the look on Conrad's face.

'Berkley? You have a Masters from Berkley?!'

'Yes Con, I do. You seem shocked. I suppose you never thought your little brother would amount to much, y'know, after getting kicked out of home and everything.' He couldn't – and didn't want to – keep the scorn and anger out of his voice.

'It's not that. It's just….' Conrad didn't know what to say. He didn't have a Masters. And if he did, he wouldn't have been able to get into Berkley. Not that he would ever admit that to Jack.

'Nothing. Carry on with what you were saying.' Jack saw him trying to blow it off and smiled inwardly. He knew what Con was thinking.

'Yeah, so I joined the Army. And after I'd had enough of that a friend of mine who I'd served with offered me a job with CTU. He'd got a high level job in the Agency and recommended me to his superiors when I told him I was thinking of leaving the forces.'

'So you were – what? An analyst or something?' Conrad was trying to remember what he seen in movies and read about in books.

Jack smirked. He was enjoying this. He was reminded of the time he was seven and was told that he'd passed the entrance exams to an exclusive private high school. Savannah had passed them too. The look on Con's face now was exactly the same as when he'd heard the news back then – he'd failed the exams four years previously.

'No Con, not as an analyst. As Director. I joined the agency as Director of CTU.' He stifled a grin as Conrad stared at him. He caught the flash of anger that passed across his face and chose to ignore it. 'It was also called Special Agent in Charge, but Director was less of a mouthful.' He couldn't stop the corners of his mouth curling upwards. Con looked as though he'd just sucked on a lemon.

'But you've been fired now, right? I mean – they wouldn't let a junkie run an important agency like that. And you're here so you're obviously not working.' It was Jack's turn to feel angry, even though he knew what Con was doing.

'No, I haven't been fired. I'm on leave. And I still have my job, but it's shared now. I'm Director of Field Operations. There's another guy…well, person…in charge of the Intel- processing side of things.'

'A woman? Not a guy?'

Jack seemed lost in thought for a minute and his face was sad. 'I think it's a woman now. I haven't been in for a while. As you so succinctly pointed out, I'm a junkie and they don't let people like me run the agency. Thanks for mentioning that by the way.' Con shrugged as Jack stared at him. 'There was a guy in charge while I was still at work. He's not there any more.'

'Why not?'

It was Jack's turn to shrug, He didn't want to get in to the details of Tony's fall from grace or the fact that he'd relieved him from duty the day of the virus outbreak. Tony was in prison now, awaiting trial as the case against him was built. Jack wanted to be a character witness but knew he was more likely to get subpoenaed as a witness for the prosecution, given that he'd made Tony step down and caught him taking Jane out of CTU to Saunders. Either way, his addiction and actions were going to get dragged into court and he didn't feel like that was something he could think about right now.

'It doesn't matter. Well anyway, that's how come I work for the Government.'

Conrad was silent. He knew it was stupid to feel like he did – jealous and a bit angry. He knew it was because he'd had his expectations shattered but it was also because…well dammit! Jack was always this way, even when he was a kid. Making him feel stupid and a bit inadequate. He'd always been the smart one, the athletic one, the apple of his mother's eye. Savannah too – she was beautiful and happy and outgoing, with the brains to match. Everyone always talked about the twins, how great they were, how they shone and did better than everyone else. No one had ever said that about him…he was just Conrad, the older one – the one that did OK but never stood out, the one who was obscured by the light of the two stars next to him….

It was amazing how feelings from childhood felt exactly the same thirty years later. The clenching of the stomach when you realised that you were never going to be that smart, or that good on the sports field. The lump at the back of the throat when the achievements of your brother are spelled out, making you feel like a loser. Con swallowed it and told himself. 'You're NOT a loser. You're a millionaire. You have a wife and son and a big house and your own company. You make more in a month than he does in a year. He's a drug addict and…well shit, LOOK at him right now! Stop thinking like when you were kids!'

But there was no denying it - the President of the United States had never called him on the phone. He'd never helped in stopping a nuclear bomb. He didn't have a Masters degree from Berkley and he'd never done a day's public service in his life. He looked over at Jack who was busy draining the ever-present bottle in his hand. He couldn't help it, he hated him at that moment. Hated this man that by rights should be nothing more than a number in rehab clinic. Yet here he was, quietly explaining that he'd made a success of his life, against all the odds – and been a public servant too. Done something fcking worthwhile! Con felt cheated. In this situation, HE should be the one who got to feel superior. But no – Jack had done it again. Made a mockery of him, just by being there. And he didn't even have the nerve to gloat so that he could hate him openly! No…he just sat there, all self-deprecating and commanding respect without realising it.

Con wanted to smack him so hard in his teeth that they disappeared down his throat. He knew it was stupid but he couldn't help it. He also knew that he didn't dare raise a hand against him – he'd already shown that even in his worse state he could beat the crap out of his older brother. His older brother that had never even been in a proper fight, never kept himself in shape, never been overseas if there wasn't a five star hotel and Mercedes laid on…shit, he couldn't even shoot a gun straight anymore.

Jack played with the label on the empty bottle and wondered why Con wasn't saying anything or asking more questions. He glanced up and was surprised to see the black look on his face.

'What's the matter?'

Con shook his head and dropped his gaze. 'Nothing,' he muttered.

Jack was confused but didn't want to push it. The small amount of pleasure he'd felt at showing Conrad that he wasn't a complete waste of space had disappeared – he suddenly felt quite glad he had spoken to someone. Con had been really decent about it too. He'd expected to be told he was a monster and evil and other such things. But no – he'd just walked in and asked some more questions. Maybe he really did want to know about his life now. Jack felt bad for not trusting his brother's motives and actually felt a little hopeful. If things carried on, he might actually be able to work things through and make it out of here alive after all. A small smile played on his lips. He was definitely making progress.

Maybe it was the amount he'd drank today, maybe it was the energy expended in the fight and the emotions involved with telling something that had been hidden for years – but he felt quite restful all of a sudden. It was hot in the room but he was comfortable in the chair and the noise of the flies buzzing around was quite relaxing really. He let his head drop back and to the side so he could see out of the open front door. There was only the smallest breeze ruffling the grass and the trees, it made a gentle sound that made Jack sleepy. He could see the deep blue sky, not a cloud in sight and for the first time in years he dozed off without pain or anguish in his head.

Con sat and watched him fall asleep. He looked quiet and peaceful and more at ease than he had since he'd got here. He stood up quietly and moved over to look at him properly. What was it about the man that had this effect on him? Made him feel like he was nothing and had done nothing worthwhile with his life but he, Jack, was special and important – it wasn't as though he were doing anything great up here, hidden away in this cabin in the woods. Con knew that the answer wasn't written on his face…but he just couldn't understand. He'd always had this aura about him. And why did he and Savannah have it all? Why couldn't he have got some too? The lump returned to his throat and tears of hurt and frustration burned in his eyes. This little jerk was nothing but a source of pain. Conrad suddenly had the urge to put a pillow over his face or something…but he knew that was stupid.

Perhaps staying here wouldn't be such a bad thing after all. Maybe there would be a chance to show Jack he wasn't as great as he thought he was. Conrad smirked at the notion and went to make some lunch.


	17. Peace Part 17

Peace – Part 17

Jack was dozing softly when he started to dream of food. It didn't take long for him to realise that he was smelling chicken and wake up. Con was sitting opposite tucking into a large hot sandwich that immediately set his stomach growling and he was about to ask whether there was enough for two when his brother looked up.

'Didn't make you any, sorry. Thought you were going to be asleep for a while.'

Jack was taken aback by his tone – he sounded really pissed off. He immediately wondered what he'd done wrong but then tried to shrug off his uneasy feeling, he was probably imagining it.

'That's OK. I don't expect you to cook for me.'

'Good.'

Jack frowned. Con was undeniably irate about something. Whatever. He wasn't going to spend time worrying about it. The idea of getting up and making food was horrible but his stomach was really insisting now, so he heaved himself up out of the chair and headed to the kitchen.

Half a cold ham sandwich later, he didn't feel hungry anymore. He felt a bit nauseas actually; all the whiskey probably had something to do with it. He looked over at Con who had finished eating but wasn't saying anything – he was just sitting with his head back and staring at the ceiling. Jack felt bad; he didn't know what he'd done wrong.

He was reminded of when they were kids – if Con was mad at him he'd usually just ignore him and wouldn't say anything no matter how much Jack pleaded with him to talk. It usually took Savannah to break the thaw…she always made Con laugh and persuaded him to talk to Jack. She just had that way about her, a sort of magic that made everyone around her feel better. He had always been in awe of it, it was probably why he had adored her the way he did. Jack remembered wondering about her years ago, wondering why she had this gift and he didn't. Not that he minded – it was just what made her special.

And he was suddenly taken back to a certain day with Teri. He remembered it so clearly, the images were so vivid in his mind. It was the first moment that he knew he was in love with her – it was after he'd told her what had happened to Savannah. They'd been sitting in the lounge of her parent's house during Thanksgiving break. He'd been trying not to cry and was losing the battle…and she'd put her arms around him and said all the right things. Jack had realised just how like his sister Teri was – and knew that he would never let her go. He wouldn't lose this one.

But he had. Of course he had. Jack was brought out of his memories to be faced with the fact that he was sitting at the counter in the old family home, alone, with tears in his eyes…and suddenly it felt like the home he remembered. Cold and harsh and unforgiving. He shivered involuntarily and rubbed his arms as a sudden chill took him. Was it still the withdrawal? Or just the buried memories of a painful past? He didn't know – and he didn't want to. He didn't want to deal with Conrad's mood either, it made him feel like he was ten years old again.

The sickness he'd been feeling earlier threatened to overtake him suddenly so he headed for the front door to get some air. Jack smiled ruefully – it looked like the drugs hadn't finished with him yet. He was surprised to find that he hadn't really thought about them too much that morning, he'd been too busy talking to his brother. But, as always, as soon as he turned his attention on them properly the desire grabbed at his throat and stomach and he had to start walking around to try and get his mind on other things.

He couldn't help wondering why he had always associated Teri with Savannah. It seemed kind of sick in a way – but not really, when he thought about it properly. He supposed it was understandable that he would be attracted to a woman who had the same qualities as someone else he had loved so much. And Kim didn't know it but she was the image of the Aunt she'd never met. Sometimes he looked at pictures of his baby when she was young and it was like looking at his sister, the resemblance was uncanny. And he'd always been comforted by it…at least he never had to wonder about what she would have looked like if she'd made it past eight. He only had to look at Kim to know.

Jack stopped pacing and lit a cigarette. He didn't feel so sick anymore but he did feel like crying. Thinking like this…it just seemed to rub his face in how badly he'd failed. He had vowed to never lose Teri – and she'd kicked him out of the house because of his behaviour and then he'd got her killed. And now Kim. He'd started using drugs when he knew what they did to people – and lost her because of it. His job too, almost. Just what kind of self-destructive asshole was he?! What sort of idiot did this to themselves? He'd asked himself these questions before but he had never felt so helpless to answer them as he did right now. And he thought coming up here would help? Jack snorted. It was just making it worse. He may have managed to stop sticking a needle into his veins but how long was that going to last if he couldn't force himself to feel better? He was once again faced with the question – why exactly had he stopped? Yes, he wanted Kim back…but a small voice in the back of his mind whispered to him, ever so quietly…

'What if she's better off without you Jack…..?'

He ground his cigarette into the dust with his toe, desperately trying to block the thought out. It wasn't like he hadn't thought it before – but that was when he was in the depths of a junkie's depression, when the heroin was making him maudlin and he hated himself with every fibre of his being. He'd stopped using now though – why was he still thinking it? Was it because it was true?

Jack buried both hands in his hair and squeezed his head with his eyes screwed shut, yelling at himself in his mind…'SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!! If you're going to think like this, don't think of anything! Idiot! Stop dwelling on it!'

But he just managed to make himself feel stupid and he eventually dropped his hands to his side, feeling tired and old. The sensible part of his mind was telling him that this was just a normal mood swing, the inevitable depression that was always going to follow kicking the habit…and the rest of his mind told the sensible bit to shut the fuck up.

Because it wasn't as though he didn't feel like this before drugs had entered his life – he'd asked himself he same questions for years after Teri had died. He hadn't been able to answer them then either – and finally heroin had provided him with the perfect way to avoid them completely. He should have known that those damn questions were just lurking in the shadows, biding their time until they could pounce on him again and drive him crazy. They were the real monkey on his back…and he couldn't see a cure for them.

Well he could…but hadn't he decided not to do that any more?

Jack lit another cigarette and stared at the ground. He was confused and getting worse by the minute. Suddenly, all his objectives weren't so clear. He was having a hard time remembering why it was so important to stay clean. Even repeating Kim's name in his head wasn't helping….somehow when he tried to think of her he just saw Savannah – and that wasn't helping. That whole thing was something he still wanted to avoid.

It was probably lucky that Con chose that moment to walk out of the house. Jack was forced to compose his features. He didn't want his brother to see him falling to pieces because of his own weak mind.

'You smoke too much. It's a filthy habit. It'll kill you, you know.'

Jack just stared at him, wondering where all this rudeness was coming from. 'A worse habit than heroin?' He hoped Con would get the point and back off. He looked belligerent and Jack didn't want him in his face.

'Yeah, worse than heroin. Takes longer to kill you and people aren't scared off them as much as they are drugs.'

'Whoever told you that has obviously never been a smack junkie,' Jack said in a flat voice and that was the end of that. Con knew he was just picking on Jack's smoking for the sake of it but couldn't seem to help it. He couldn't stop feeling the way he had earlier and he wished Jack would get angry at him so they could argue. But he just stood there, his skin looking even paler in the bright sunlight and the too-big T-shirt hanging off his skinny frame.

Con sighed. It was hard to stay pissed at Jack at the moment – he had a disconcerting habit of looking small and beaten-up on. Conrad was constantly reminding himself that he'd brought it all on himself…but looking at him now, it was hard to believe that this was a man who was capable of doing the things he'd talked about earlier. And yet…he had. Con knew it. There were times when he looked into his eyes and saw steel, times when the light hit his face a certain way and the strength and resolution radiated off him. They were short-lived moments, but they were there all the same. When he was like this was annoyed to find that the bad mood he had been in was slipping away. Jack looked so vulnerable standing there and he seemed like he might be upset about something. He didn't want to ask him if he was OK – but he did anyway.

Jack gave a half smile. 'I'll _be_ OK.'

'You sure?'

He looked at the floor and pushed an old cigarette butt around with his foot. He wanted to say 'yes, of course' but that wouldn't be true would it? How could he be sure of such a thing? He wasn't. So he shrugged instead.

Con walked over and stood in front of him. He didn't say anything so Jack was forced to look up into his face.

'What?'

There was no answer and Jack started to feel uneasy with the way his brother was examining his face. What was he doing? What did he want? Eventually Con dropped his eyes, muttered 'Nothing' and retreated a few steps, leaving Jack confused.

'Come on back inside. You can tell me some more about what you've been doing with yourself. It's too hot out here anyway. The humidity's a bitch.' Jack just looked at him suspiciously for a moment but then he turned and walked back to the house where it was cooler. He was glad to have something to do and someone to talk to.

Con watched him go. He had wanted to see something, anything, in his face that would make this easier. He had wanted Jack to smirk at him, or be rude, or do something to piss him off – anything that would stop him feeling sorry for him. But he hadn't. He just looked beaten and there was definite pain in the eyes. Con resigned himself to the fact that Jack wasn't gloating over him – and that there was a lot more to this whole story. Which, despite himself, he wanted to hear. There was something unstoppable about this thing, like they were locked here and wouldn't be allowed out until it was all sorted one way or the other.

He glanced up at the clear sky. The weather had been so hot for so long, every slight change was noticeable. Although there wasn't a cloud in sight he suddenly felt claustrophobic, like the air was pressing in on him from all sides, trying to suffocate him. He shivered slightly despite the heat and headed to the house. No two ways about it, there was a storm heading this way….


	18. Peace Part 18

Peace – Part 18

Jack lay awake that night, trying to banish the thoughts that had started earlier. It was sweltering in the small room, a stifling, intense humidity that made it impossible for him to get comfortable. He was wearing just a pair of shorts and his sleeping bag had been thrown across the room hours ago but sweat still rolled off him freely, making the dirty old mattress damp and smell of age and decay. The night was completely still outside the window, the breeze that had been around for the last few days had died and taken with it the last of the cool air. There was a faint chirruping from crickets, but apart from that Jack could hear nothing that suggested there was even a world outside the window.

He reached out in the dark for a bottle of water and drained the rest of it, holding it over his mouth so the last few drops didn't escape him. Then he threw the empty bottle away in frustration, trying to will himself to sleep. But it was no good – he had been sleepy earlier but that had all disappeared as soon as he went to bed properly.

He hadn't talked any more to Conrad. There was something about his brother's behaviour that was bothering him, although he hadn't yet figured out what it was. He couldn't talk to anyone if he even suspected they had some kind of hidden agenda – and although that might not be what it was with Con, he didn't trust him enough to bare his soul to him any further, even though it might of helped. Maybe if Con told him what the problem was, he'd be able to talk to him again – in the meantime he'd just have to struggle on his own.

Jack eventually sat up and leant against the wall. There was a small shaft of moonlight coming through the window and casting shadows on the floor. Jack stared at them without moving, giving his eyes something to rest on while his mind worked overtime.

He knew that everything he was feeling was normal. He'd been well schooled on the mood swings and depression that he'd experience, when he was in rehab. They had taken great pains to tell him that he would be supported through it, that there would be psychiatrists and counsellors on hand whenever he needed to talk and that there would be methadone to help the cravings and valium to make him sleep. He'd taken the drugs and avoided the pshrinks as much as possible, only going when he was absolutely required to. He kind of wished he could have that sort of help now – he never used the word 'support', it made his flesh creep. 'Support' was for wimps, people that couldn't cope.

Besides, he had help didn't he? There was a bottle of whiskey nearby and that was usually all the help he needed. It was what had got him through the aftermath of Teri's murder…sure, he'd thought about killing himself a few times but it was Kim that finished all thoughts of that. She needed him back then, she was only fifteen. Not like now. Now she was all grown up and had a life of her own. Jack felt a clenching in his stomach when he thought about all she'd been put through – and yet, there she was, making a life for herself and her family. She didn't let it all bring her down. Chase was a good kid and supposed to be making good progress. He was going to be fine and they'd probably end up married. Jack was happy for them…but why was Kim able to put it all behind her when he wasn't? It was something that he had never wondered about before but he did now.

Maybe it was her youth. Maybe it was because she'd been more passive in all the dangerous situations – it hadn't been her job to stop them after all. Maybe…yes, Jack realised what it was suddenly. She didn't feel guilty about it. She'd told him once that she'd beaten herself up for years after her mother died – because if she hadn't sneaked out of the house, she wouldn't have been kidnapped and put her parents in the position they'd ended up in. Jack had stopped her and told her that it was OK, and she had just smiled – and said that yes, she didn't blame herself anymore because she'd apologised so many times to her mother that day and they'd got over it. They thought they were going to die and realised that nothing else mattered – they were together and had a chance to tell each other they'd loved one another and say sorry for everything… even after the day ended the way it did, Kim knew that her mother wouldn't blame her.

Jack had been happy that she didn't feel bad anymore – but felt terrible himself. He had told Teri that he loved her, that they were going to be alright and she had believed him – but it turned out that he was lying. Things didn't turn out alright. And he didn't get the chance to spend time with her on that, her last day, and he couldn't help regretting it. And the guilt was awful – the thing that Kim had been able to let go was the thing he _couldn't _let go of. And as he sat there, he still couldn't. Jack drew his legs up to his chest and hugged them.

He'd come to terms with the fact that he hadn't realised Nina was a sleeper agent. They were trained to be unnoticeable – to everyone, even the best agents. The only time they ever got caught before they carried out their tasks was when their names were given up by some other criminal that had got themselves caught, or if they made a stupid mistake. And Nina was too good for mistakes. So no….he didn't feel bad for that. His ego wasn't so inflated that he thought he should have super-human powers of detection.

No, it was the affair that troubled him. That he should have got so close, and had real feelings, for someone who could hurt him so badly. He wasn't used to misreading someone's intentions like that. He was so sure that she had felt for him too – but she couldn't have. Because if she did she would never have killed Teri, she would never have inflicted that on him. And another part of his brain whispered to him that perhaps he had been right, maybe she _did_ love him like she once said she did – and maybe _that _was why she pulled the trigger. Nina was obviously a psychopath so it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that she could have taken the chance to kill Teri out of spite. And it was that that kept Jack awake at nights – if he hadn't allowed her close, would Teri still be alive? If he had resisted temptation – been stronger – would he still have a wife and a child that would be nearly five? Was it really all his fault?

Jack gripped his legs tighter and shut his eyes against the pain. He'd been asking himself these questions for almost five years now. There were never any answers – he'd killed the one person that could have answered them. So he was left in torment, always wondering. Jack knew he had to find some way to let it go – he knew that this was the crux of everything. But at the moment he couldn't see how to – it was his weakness that had caused it all. Maybe he deserved to suffer like he was. And if he was that weak that he couldn't say no to a pretty woman – what was drugs? Allowing himself to become a heroin addict was nothing compared to the weakness that had caused his wife and child to die.

Jack felt the tears flow down his cheeks and mingle with the sweat on his face. As always, he wasn't getting anywhere. He always had this conversation with himself and always ended it by fixing, it was the only way to get his swirling thoughts to settle down. It was a ritual he'd got used to and now he was only a few feet away from his works – yet again he wondered what he was keeping himself alive for. He opened his eyes and glanced up at the shelf. The drugs and the gun were still there, untouched.

He got up and padded slowly across the room, his bare feet making no sound on the wooden floorboards. The gun was black, and it was dark in the room, but the small amount of light there was gave the metal the faintest of gleams. Jack wiped his face and looked at it. It occurred to him that this was the most days in a row he'd gone without touching a weapon that he could remember. His gun was so much a part of him that he could never see himself without one.

He reached out tentatively and brushed it with one finger. The metal was hot to the touch, the furnace-like heat in the room the last few days had kept it warm. The sweat on Jack's finger made it slide across the smooth metal and it reminded him of blood, hot and sticky. It made the gun seem alive and he suddenly pulled his hand back with his heart beating rapidly. This was stupid. What was he doing? Jack turned away, deliberately not looking at the needle. He felt around for his sneakers and pulled them on in the dark. He felt incredibly restless all of a sudden and he needed some air.

He slipped through the silent house, trying not to wake Conrad and wincing every time a floorboard creaked. He didn't want to face any questions right now. But there was no sound from what used to be their parents room and he found his way to the front door with the minimum of noise. The door creaked as he opened it, but he only made a gap wide enough to squeeze his body through – and then he was outside. It was pitch black because the moon was behind the dense trees and the air was so heavy it was like breathing moisture. Jack felt like he was in a Louisiana swamp or something but at least it was better than trying to sleep through it.

He cursed when he realised that his cigarettes were in the house but brightened up when he thought there might be some in the car. He got lucky, he'd left it unlocked and there was a carton in the trunk, along with matches and a flashlight he kept there in case of a puncture. He grabbed everything, lit a cigarette and walked away.

He didn't know why he felt like movement just then, maybe it was just because he'd been too stationary for the last week or so. The stiffness he'd been feeling had virtually worn off and he'd got some energy back. It was nothing compared to how fit he used to be obviously, but it was a start. But Jack wasn't thinking about his physical condition just then, he was consumed by other memories as he walked.

The path to the lake looked exactly the same as it had that night when he was eight. Which is to say, it was utterly black. He'd forgotten just how dark the countryside got at night, living in a city where there was always light it was easy to forget. The flashlight made eerie shadows dance across the forest but Jack was not afraid of the dark. He'd spent many years working in conditions far scarier than this.

It was different back then though, when he was a child. He'd been terrified and he only had a tiny flashlight, one of those ones the size of a pen. He'd imagined all the eyes of the animals in the forest were staring at him, all the bears that roamed in the area were just waiting to strike. There were mountain lions too and Jack knew they were going to catch him. Not to mention his parents…they would realise he had been planning to leave his bed, with that supernatural sense that parents have, they'd be waiting for him around every bend, ready to catch him and shout at him and smack him for misbehaving.

He had started to jog, not caring that the ground was uneven and he couldn't see it. Jack wasn't aware that his adult self was almost running now too as he relived that night. He had tripped a few times and this just made his heart beat faster, it pounded in his chest and made his ears roar as adrenaline started to flood his system. There was a movement in the undergrowth and he whipped his head round trying to see what had caused it, not knowing that he'd ruined his night vision with the light from the small torch.

He couldn't see what it was and that just made him more afraid. He started to cry with the fear, great gasping sobs, and he ran, he couldn't stop running while he tried to catch his breath through the tears. He wanted to turn back but he couldn't…Connie would never let him hear the end of it. He had to prove that he was brave, and tough. His brother would never stop looking down on him if he didn't.

The dare had been simple. Con had left something out on the rock in the lake. Jack had to go and get it and bring it back, to prove he'd done it. They'd lain awake that night waiting for their parents to go to bed. After they'd heard the bedroom door close and allowed some time for them to fall asleep, Con had leaned down from the top bunk.

'So? You going or what?' Even though it was dark, Jack could just feel the grin aimed at him. 'Not chicken are ya? Maybe I should call you Jackie from now on, you look like a girl anyway….'

'I'm not a girl!'

'Really Jackie? Well, I guess you'd better prove it then.' Then was a soft thump as Conrad's feet gently hit the floor and Jack heard him walk quietly over to their dresser and open a drawer.

'Here, take this flashlight. Now get going and don't be long. You know Mom sometimes checks in during the night.'

'What did you leave out there?'

'You'll see when you get there. It's not too big so you'll be alright carrying it. Now get going!'

Jack was nervous but felt OK as he crept out of the bedroom door. He was sure this wasn't going to be a problem. He wasn't counting on interruptions but as he inched down the hallway on tiptoe, he distinctly heard someone call his name. He sighed and stuck his head round the door.

'What?'

'Don't go Jack. It's dangerous!'

He walked into the room quietly and sat on the bed. 'Be quiet or you'll wake Mom and Dad.'

Savannah was staring up at him with the sheets pulled up to her chin, he could see the moonlight shining off her big blue eyes. 'Please don't go JJ.'

'I have to. Con will ride me forever if I don't. Anyway, I'm not scared.' He had seen her eyes fill with tears and was sorry that she was frightened but what did girls know about being a man anyway? 'Go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning.'

'Be careful'

'I will.'

He wasn't so confident when the darkness closed in and the light from the flashlight proved to be less than adequate. He thought he was going to have a heart attack from terror actually, especially when the form of some animal scampered across the path in front of him. He froze in the track, sure it was a cougar. But whatever it was hadn't come back and with his heart in his throat he'd crept onwards, then jogging, then running again. He almost collapsed with relief when the trees opened up and he could light shimmering off the water. He sprinted as fast as he could towards it, the tears drying up as he ran into the open air. He was breathing hard when he finally slumped onto a rock to get his breath back and he felt so much better when he realised he could see from the light of the bright moon. It blazed down onto the water, its pale light illuminating the whole pool and making the trees and mountains around the edge recede into the background.

When he was breathing normally again, he got up and made his way carefully to the edge of the water. He was only wearing shorts and a T-shirt over his trunks – they went on a rock with the flashlight and his sneakers. Jack was confident in his ability as a swimmer even though he was only eight, and he could see the rock clearly. It was a dark shape rising out of the water and it was only about two hundred metres away, the surrounding water was calm and smooth. Jack walked in, every splash sounding ten times louder in the still night.

The swim was OK. It was a little eerie when he started to dwell on the things that might be slithering about in the depths below him, and he had a shock when something brushed against his leg. But on the whole he managed it alright and he was actually grinning when he reached the rock and pulled himself out of the water. He couldn't stop thinking about how surprised Con was going to be and how he was going to have to admit that Jack was as good as he was when he got back. He swore when he realised that he'd left the flashlight behind and didn't have any way of seeing what it was that Con had left here, but he figured that he'd be able to find it with his hands. The air was cool on his naked back as he started to feel around, making goose bumps rise on his skin. It was a hot summer that year – very hot – but it was still cool after a swim at night.

The grin died on his lips as he realised what Con expected him to bring back to the cabin. It was their Dad's shotgun. Jack picked it up in both hands, feeling the weight of it and feeling his heart sink into his feet. He couldn't swim back with this! If he got it wet it would break it and his Dad would kill him! And he wasn't strong enough to hold it above the water with one hand and swim back with the other – he'd drop it and then be in even more trouble. Not to mention the fact that it was longer than his arms. Jack felt desperation overtake him and tears started to fall from his eyes. He knew there was no way he could do this – Con had set him up.

No…no he couldn't have. His big brother wouldn't do that to him. He just couldn't have thought about it properly. Jack set the gun back down carefully and wondered what to do. If he went back now, Con would laugh at him – but Jack would be able to tell him what was there. That would prove that he'd been here and Con wouldn't be able to laugh. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't bring the gun back.

He felt better and slipped back into the water, eager to get back and prove that he'd done it. He was angry that he couldn't complete the task in full but without anything waterproof to wrap the gun in, and nothing to make it float, there was nothing he could do. He wasn't about to lose his father's expensive weapon and get in trouble for that.

He got back to the edge of the lake and peeled off his trunks, hurriedly dressing in his shorts and T-shirt again. The run back didn't seem so bad now he'd done it once but it still scared him and he got through it as quickly as he could. He was out of breath when he finally reached the cabin and he had to take a few minutes to recover because he didn't want his gasping to wake the whole house. He inched back in through the front door when he was breathing easy again and crept upstairs, wincing when his bedroom door creaked. That was OK though, his mom would just think he'd been in the bathroom if she heard it.

'Did you get it?' Con's raspy whisper seemed very loud in the stillness. He was twelve and his voice was already starting to break. Jack shoved his swimming trunks under the bed so his mom wouldn't find them in the morning.

'It was Dad's gun!' he hissed back. They both held their breath when they heard a noise and Jack leaped into bed and pulled the covers up over his clothes. They both heaved a sigh of relief when a small whisper travelled through the darkness.

'Are you alright JJ?'

'I'm fine. Go back to bed.'

'No!' Savannah pushed back the sheets and climbed into the bottom of Jack's bunk.

'Savannah get out of here! Mom'll kill you if you're here in the morning!' Con sounded really pissed off. Jack was vaguely aware that his brother didn't like the way his sister and him got on so well but he never really gave it much thought. Sure, Vannah could be a pain – she was a girl after all– but she was his twin sister and he never wanted anything to happen to her. He loved her and always made sure that he stuck up for her if Connie was getting out of line.

'She's alright Con. She'll go back to bed in a minute.'

The older boy snorted and asked again 'So what did you do with it?'

'What do you mean, what did I do with it? It was Dad's shotgun! How was I supposed to swim back with that? I left it there!'

'You what?!'

Jack felt angry but embarrassed too. 'I left it there Connie. If I got it wet it'd break it, and its too heavy….'

'God Jack, you're pathetic.' Con cut him off and was really sneering, really rubbing it in. 'I'll have to go out in the morning and get it myself now. I should have known I couldn't trust you to do anything right.'

Savannah piped up. 'Leave him alone Conrad. How could you expect him to carry it?'

Jack was even more embarrassed that she was fighting his battles for him. 'Be quiet Vannah. I can get it!'

'No you cant Jack. You're just a kid.' The shadow of Con's face appeared over the edge of the bunk bed. 'I told you you were too much of a wimp.'

'I'm not a wimp! Go and get it in the morning so Dad wont miss it. Then put it back in the afternoon. I'll go again tomorrow night and bring it back.'

'JJ no…!'

'I will! I'll bring it back!'

Con sighed. 'Ok dweeb – I'll give you one more shot. And don't mess it up this time.'

With that, his face disappeared and Jack heard him roll over in bed. He could feel Savannah staring at him and he answered her even though she hadn't spoken.

'I have to.'

'No you don't.'

'I do. You're a girl, you don't understand.'

She didn't say anything for a moment, then she got out of bed quietly. Jack looked at the light shining off her hair and suddenly felt very sad, and very ashamed at what he'd just said. He wouldn't admit it to his male buddies, but she was his best friend.

'Night JJ.'

'Night Vannah.'

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jack switched off the powerful flashlight as he neared the opening in the trees. The moon was shining in exactly the way he remembered from that night. He felt like he'd stepped back in time, not a thing had changed. He reached the same rock he'd caught his breath on all those years ago and for a fleeting second, he almost fancied he could see his young self sitting there, holding the stitch in his side as he readied himself for the swim.

He smiled slightly and turned to face the water. It rippled at him, welcoming him back. Jack didn't know why he'd felt compelled to be here but he knew now. It was time to face it. He walked down to the edge of the lake and found the rock where he'd rested his clothes. He took a seat on it and stared over the smooth body of water, while his mind reached back and the pictures of his past started to unfold before him…….


	19. Peace Part 19

Peace – Part 19

Jack perched on the rock and hugged his knees to him. The night was stifling but he still felt a chill run across his skin. He hadn't intended to think back to this, not yet anyway. But Conrad had forced it upon him, just a couple of days ago when he had demanded to know why Jack had not been to see their sister's grave. It had nagged at him and for some reason, this night seemed like a good time to open a door that had been closed for twenty-five years.

Had it only been a few days ago, when her name was mentioned for the first time in years? It seemed like a lifetime. Now, more than ever, the struggles of his former life seemed a million miles away. He was locked in a bubble; a private battle between him and his demons was going on and he couldn't spare a thought for his previous life. Jack suddenly thought that it might be nice not to go back to it at all…but of course, he would have to. He shivered again and wished he had brought a T-shirt. But that didn't matter. Clothes, food, comfort, shelter….he'd been without them all before.

He felt strange, like he didn't exist in the physical world for a few moments. The moonlight shimmering across the surface of the lake, the intense heat of the night, the complete absence of rustling from the trees…it all conspired to make an atmosphere that was both eerie and suffocating. 'Fitting', Jack thought. 'Just like it was back then….' And with that, he let go and once again, he was eight years old.

------------------------------------------------------------

He'd been preoccupied all day, wondering how he was going to pull this off. Conrad took every opportunity to leer at him, or whisper in his ear that he was a loser for not doing it the night before. It made Jack angry, because how was he supposed to have known he'd need equipment to carry it out the task? Con had said he would be able to carry the item he'd left on the rock – well OK, he _could_ carry it. He just couldn't swim with it without ruining it.

It was lunchtime and he picked at his food. His Dad had already shouted at him because he hadn't been paying attention when he'd said Grace – he'd forgotten to murmur 'Amen' and that was something their father took very seriously. So he wasn't allowed any dessert and he couldn't help feeling that that was unfair. Conrad loved it of course and spent the meal smirking at him and poking him with his foot under the table. Jack knew better than to make a scene about that – sure, Con would get in trouble but Jack would get his ass kicked later on by his brother. So he put up with it and stared at his plate, trying to ignore the worried looks that Savannah was shooting at him.

He was relieved when lunch was through because it meant they were allowed to go out and play. They'd only been at the cabin for a week and that meant they had spent the morning doing schoolwork – their father insisted that the first week of vacation was when homework got done. They complained about it obviously but they were actually pretty grateful – it meant that when it was all done they were free for the rest of the vacation and their Dad relaxed a lot. He would take them swimming and teach them to shoot properly, even Savannah. They would hike in the hills and he taught them about the forest, even camping out sometimes. Jack always marvelled at how his Dad seemed to know so much, there didn't seem to be any question he couldn't answer. Sure he was strict but Jack still adored him and craved his attention. He knew that Savannah was special to his parents and he understood why – she was the only girl and anyway, she was special to him too. They all fought for her attention, even Conrad, although he pretended that he didn't. It never even occurred to Jack to question his sister's influence over the family and he certainly wasn't jealous of it. But increasingly, he was becoming aware that Conrad _was_ jealous – and that troubled him in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on.

'So dickwad…you all set for tonight?'

'I'm not a dickwad!' he countered furiously. The three of them had gone upstairs to change into old, outdoor clothes. 'And yeah, I'm all ready.'

'You'd better be. You drop that thing in the water, Dad's going to kill you.'

'Well you could have picked something else! Why does it have to be the gun anyway?'

Con grinned at him with his eyebrows raised. 'Well shit Jack, I didn't want to make it too easy for you. Not that it's difficult – I mean, I went and got it this morning before Dad got up didn't I?'

Jack bit his tongue and started to change. He wanted to point out that Con was four years older than him, and taller and stronger. But he knew that would make him look like he was trying to back out – and he couldn't do that now. He'd never live it down. He didn't know why it was so important not to look like a baby in front of Conrad, it just was.

There was a knock at the door. 'Can I come in?'

'Yeah Vannah.'

Savannah came in dressed in jeans and an old T-shirt. It was light blue and perfectly matched her eyes. 'Dad's going into town for something. He said we weren't allowed to go far from the house. Mom's going to bake and wants us to stay close.'

Conrad snorted. 'Yeah yeah. Sounds like the perfect chance to take the gun back out on the lake. If Mom asks where I am, cover for me.' He didn't wait to hear them say they would, he just pushed his way past and disappeared down the stairs. Savannah sighed and turned worried eyes towards Jack, who was tying the laces of his sneakers.

'JJ why are you doing this? Why are you listening to him? It's dangerous!'

'It's not dangerous. I've swam out to that rock a hundred times. We've all walked through the forest a hundred times. Why are you so worried?'

'You haven't done it in the dark. And that gun's heavy, what if it pulls you under? I can hardly pick it up, you'll never be able to swim all the way with it!' Tears welled up in her big blue eyes and Jack sighed.

'I did it last night in the dark didn't I? I'm going to take the inflatable dingy and rest the gun on it while I swim. It'll be fine. Don't worry about it.'

But the tears refused to go away and Jack felt her worry as he looked at her. She refused to turn away and whispered softly 'JJ I've got a bad feeling. Please don't go.'

For a second, he almost said he wouldn't. Her face looked almost panicked and he hated seeing her like that. But then Conrad's smirking face crossed his mind and his resolve strengthened.

'I have to,' he said quietly. 'Con'll never let me live it down. You know how he is now and it'll get worse. And there's really nothing to worry about.'

She didn't say anything else, just shook her head and left the room. Jack felt bad for upsetting her but he really thought she was worrying about nothing.

They spent the afternoon playing near the cabin. There was an area around the back where the grass had been worn down by their feet and the ground was hard from the sun, so a basketball ring had been erected on the side of the house. It was slightly too high for them to be really accurate but they spent an hour trying to shoot hoops anyway until their mother came out and told them that the banging was driving her crazy. So they stopped and threw a baseball around instead, Jack playfully jeering at Savannah when she dropped it and she answering silently by throwing it back at him with extra force. After a while they were interrupted by their Mom calling from the front door.

'Jack!' He ran round to her. 'Where did Conrad go?'

Jack hesitated – he didn't want to tell her that he was out on the lake. Apart from the trouble he'd be in with his brother, he didn't want to lie to his mom. Savannah walked round too and saw his dilemma instantly.

'He went down the path Mom. He said he lost his slingshot and wanted to find it.'

Isobel looked at her young twins and couldn't help but smile at the sight of them. They were both so blond and cute, such good friends and she knew she was lucky to have them. Conrad too of course, but he was much more abrasive than these two, more like his father.

'OK honey. I've baked some cookies, if you come in in a few minutes they'll be cool enough to eat.' She turned to go back into the house but was called back by her daughter.

'Mom, what's Blue Grass?'

Jack sighed and turned away. She hadn't shut up about this stuff since she read about it in a book a couple of weeks ago. He had tried to explain that it wasn't actually blue up close but she seemed to have a bee in her bonnet about it. She started asking why they couldn't have some and why she'd never seen any. The idea of it seemed to fascinate her for some reason. He walked away, leaving her with Mom who was smiling indulgently and answering her questions.

His feet carried him back to the rear of the house and he walked over to the small shed where all their outside stuff was stored. The rubber dingy was in there and he wanted to be sure he'd be able to find it in the night. Yes, it was right there by the door, it wouldn't be a problem. He knew that their Dad usually inflated it with a foot pump – but it wasn't that big so he didn't think he'd have trouble blowing it up himself. Jack reached out and touched the thick, rough surface. It would solve all his problems. Heck, if he could find the oars he wouldn't even have to swim. But he didn't want to look for them now. Con could be back at any time and Jack didn't trust him not to hide the small inflatable craft if he figured out that Jack was going to use it. After last night, he didn't trust him at all.

He shut the door and walked back to the house for some cookies. He felt a whole lot better about tonight now he'd checked it was there. He couldn't see there being any problems and Conrad would finally have to stop baiting him about being small and weak. Jack grinned at the prospect and broke into a jog.

--------------------------------------------

Jack was slipping clothes on in the dark when Conrad's voice whispered through the darkness.

'Make sure you do it right this time – because I ain't rescuing you again. If you don't bring the gun back, it's staying out there – and I'm telling Dad that _you _left it there.' Jack heard him chuckle and anger flooded through him. Now there was no choice – if he didn't want to get beaten black and blue in the morning, he _had_ to do this.

Once again he crept out of his dark room. There was no call from Savannah's bedroom this time so he guessed she'd finally stopped worrying and gone to sleep. He made his way through the house again, rubbing his face to wake himself up and telling himself to stay alert. He was tired after the missed sleep from the night before but he was going to do this as quickly as he could, return triumphant and present the trophy to Con. He smiled at the thought and kept going.

He reached the outside and pulled the door to after him. And nearly had a heart attack when his arm was grabbed from the shadows of the porch. He couldn't stop a small squeal escaping his lips – the tension was high enough already and being grabbed almost made him lose it. He winced as the sound carried through the still night and froze – who the hell was this? And had his parents heard his cry?

'JJ!' A small hiss from the darkness made him relax.

'Vannah what the hell are you doing? You scared the crap out of me! Go back to bed.'

'I'm coming with you.' Her small voice was insistent.

'No you're not! No way!'

'You'll get hurt. I know it!' She stepped closer and as his eyes were getting used to the darkness he could see a faint sparkle – the tears in her eyes.

He sighed with impatience. 'I won't get hurt. I did it last night remember? We can't both be gone from our beds and anyway, you'll slow me down.' The small gasp from her told Jack he had hurt her feelings. He had never before questioned her ability to keep up with him; he'd always accepted that she could do pretty much what he could.

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. But look – I really have to do this. If I don't, Con's not going to get it and he'll tell Dad that I left the stupid thing out there. Dad'll beat the crap out of me.'

'Conrad wouldn't do that.' Jack almost snorted out loud. She always said nice things about people, why couldn't she be realistic about this?

'He _told_ me he was going to. And he'll probably enjoy seeing me getting hit too. You know what he's like, even if you won't admit it.'

Savannah sighed softly and was forced to admit that yes, their older brother would squeal on Jack and feel no qualms about it. 'Well, if you let me come with you I can help. I don't want to see you get in trouble JJ, not over him and his stupid little task. Why did you agree to it?'

Jack looked at the ground and couldn't answer. He didn't want to admit that Conrad always made him feel small, that he was tired of being ribbed by the kids at school because he was short. Yeah he was fast, and was really good at baseball, but the kids who played football would never let him join in because they said he was too little. And Conrad played football – and hockey – and wouldn't stop teasing about how Jack would never be able to. It drove him crazy, so he'd jumped at this little scheme when Conrad had proposed it.

'I just did. I want him to shut up and stop calling me a runt. Even Dad calls me a runt sometimes and I don't like it.' He was embarrassed to feel a lump in his throat and was glad that it was dark so she couldn't see his face.

'How are you going to do it then?' He looked up, the serious note in her voice was a surprise. He realised immediately that she had recognised his plight and didn't want him to get in trouble, so she'd help if she could. He was glad, they'd been talking for about ten minutes and he wanted to get going.

'I'm going to take the dingy and some plastic bags. I'll wrap the gun up so it won't get wet and rest it on that. I'll push it in front of me if I can't find the oars.'

'You'll never be able to blow that up, it's too big. Why don't you take that raft we used to use in the pool back home? It's in the shed somewhere. It'll be quicker to blow up and it'll be OK to rest the gun on. You can even sit on it if you balance right.'

'But the water will come over the sides.'

'That doesn't matter if you wrap it up properly.'

Jack considered what she said and saw that it made sense. The raft would be easier and quicker. He suddenly grabbed her and pulled her into a spontaneous hug, something he hadn't done for a long time.

'Thanks Vannah, you're the best. Now, I gotta get going.' He tried to release her but she hung on. 'What's the matter?'

She clung to his neck and whispered in his ear. 'Be really, really careful OK? Promise me!'

'I promise.' She pulled back and stared at him, as if she was working out whether to believe him or now. 'I really do! I promise.'

She leaned forward quickly and kissed him on the cheek. He was left standing on the porch with a smile on his face, half in confusion, half in pleasure. He turned as she slipped through the doorway. A small break in the trees suddenly allowed a tiny sliver of moonlight into the clearing and it glinted off her golden hair for a second…and then she was gone.

He faced away from the house and paused for a moment or two, refocusing on his plans. He felt in his pocket for the small torch. Yes he had it. He was ready to go. He took a step forward…and for the second time that night he froze in his tracks, unable to move.

The porch light had flicked on, and Sam Bauer stood framed in the doorway. Jack turned slowly and his heart sank as he saw the look on his Dad's face. He wasn't happy. Not at all.

-----------------------------------------------

He was dragged inside by his arm and flung into one of the chairs in the living room. His father didn't believe him when he said he had only stepped outside for some air because it was hot in his room and he couldn't sleep. He took the rough slaps across his face and tried not to cry but eventually he couldn't stop the tears as his Dad continued to shout. Jack could hear his mother on the upstairs landing, telling the other two to stay in their beds. He was glad Savannah had had the time to get back to her room – dammit, maybe it was that that woke the old man up! He shouldn't have stayed to talk to her, he should have just gone! What an idiot!

'I'm sorry Dad! I'm sorry!' He pleaded with his Dad, trying to get him to stop. But he knew what was coming and sure enough, he was told to sit there while his Dad went and fetched his belt. Jack was left alone, trembling in fear. He couldn't seem to drag his eyes away from the carpet; it was as though if he didn't face the man, it wouldn't happen. And all the time he kept thinking – I've got to get that gun back. I've got to. If I don't, this'll be nothing to what's coming tomorrow….

Sam returned. 'One last chance Jack. What were you doing outside at this time of night?'

Jack couldn't speak, he was paralysed with fear. He couldn't tell the truth – if he did, it would be even worse. And it would get Conrad into trouble too and he didn't want that. This was his fault, he'd waited too long.

'Look at me Jack! What were you doing?!'

He just shook his head miserably and prepared himself. He didn't have to wait long, a second later he was roughly pulled up by his shoulder, crying out as his father's fingers dug into his flesh.

The beating was hard but it didn't take too long. A couple of minutes later he was being shoved up the stairs, his breath coming in great agonizing sobs and his backside and legs screaming pain. He couldn't look at his mother who waited at the top, his shame and humiliation was too strong. He was pushed unceremoniously into his room and the door was slammed shut, with a shout from his father that he'd better not think of leaving his bed again that night. He crawled to his bunk, trying to stop the tears and dragged himself on top of his sheets. He didn't even bother to get undressed, he just buried his head in his pillow to muffle his cries.

But through his tears he could still feel the presence of Conrad leaning over the edge of the bunk and he still heard his words, dripping with venom.

'Now we're _both_ going to be for it. You pathetic, useless, little jerk.'

The presence withdrew and Jack felt a new wave of sobs rising through him. He couldn't do anything right. And he was going to be killed in the morning, as soon as that stupid shotgun was missed. Jack wanted so desperately to go and get it but fear trapped him and he didn't dare move, even when the house went quiet again. He told himself over and over that the best thing he could do would be to try again. But he just couldn't and he hated himself for being so scared. Con's right, he thought, I am a wimp.

He was so engrossed in his fear and pain, he didn't the squeak of a door on the landing or the soft footsteps that made their way down the wooden steps.

----------------------------------------------

He hadn't managed to sleep much. He would doze off for a few minutes, then wake up, worrying about what was going to happen in the morning. Con was snoring in the bunk above and that didn't help. So Jack just lay there, full of fear. He watched the night sky as it lightened slowly, felt the dreaded dawn approaching. He wished he could put it off somehow, or run away….but he knew that was just fantasy. He would have to face it and take it. Strangely, as soon as he made the decision to take his punishment, he actually felt a little better.

It was about 8am when he heard his parents stirring. He listened as his Mom went downstairs and started making breakfast. He could envision her, she would still be wearing her robe because she always did in the summer holidays. She'd only go and shower and dress when they were all out playing and she had some time to herself. The smell of bacon and eggs wafted up the stairs and despite everything, his stomach growled. But he didn't want to get up, he was trying to delay the inevitable a little longer.

The bedroom door crashed open. 'Jack, get up. Right now!' His father's voice was curt and Jack didn't argue. 'You too Conrad.' He disappeared down the stairs, leaving them.

Jack was still dressed from the night but he changed anyway, wincing from the welts on his skin – marks from the belt. Con pulled some clothes on without looking at him. They didn't speak. They thought they knew what was coming.

Isobel called up the stairs. 'Can one of you boys get Savannah up too please?'

'I'll do it.' Jack crossed the hallway and knocked on the door. There was no answer so he knocked louder. 'Vannah, you got to get up.' He listened. Nothing.

He'd always been taught that you didn't go into a girl's bedroom without being told it was OK, but the absence of noise made him uneasy for some reason. He opened the door a crack and called through. Still nothing.

Jack opened the door fully and peeked inside. She wasn't there. Her clothes weren't on the dresser. Jack turned to stone and felt his heart drop through the floor. He only moved when he heard Conrad come out of their bedroom, he turned his head and Con told him later that he was white as a ghost.

'What?'

'She's not here.' His voice was no more than a whisper.

'What?!' Con stared and suddenly, it dawned on him why Jack looked so scared.

'Oh…._shit_! She wouldn't…would she?'

Jack didn't answer. Neither of them moved. And then they suddenly tore down the stairs, as fast as their legs would carry them.

----------------------------------------------------

Jack shifted on the rock. He realised his back was aching from the position he'd been sitting in, but he didn't move. The sky was getting lighter and dawn wouldn't be far away. The sun rose early in the summer.

They'd run to their parents, he remembered, their faces ashen. Sam had listened when he was told she wasn't in her bed and cursed because he thought she'd gone for an early morning walk in the forest or something. But Jack _knew_ it wasn't that, and so did Conrad. The story spilled out, both of their voices increasingly frantic and when they'd finished their Dad was running to the shed to see if the raft had gone. It had.

Jack could remember the desperate sprint to the lake, all of them yelling her name as loud as they could. For a few minutes he allowed himself to hope that she'd got lost in the woods in the darkness and would hear their calls and come running. But she didn't. Sam was the fastest runner obviously and he reached the lake a minute or two before the boys. Jack would never forget the sheer terror on his face as he looked over the water….the smooth surface seemed to blaze in the early morning sunlight, the water reflecting the mountains and the deep blue sky.

But there was the raft. All alone, floating gently, its pink material out of place and somehow, the scariest thing he'd ever seen. There was no sign of Savannah. Sam ordered one of them to swim out to the rock, to see if the gun was still there. He was going back to call the police. Jack recoiled at the thought of swimming in that water…_what if she was down there?!!_ So Conrad did it, and returned, pale, shaking and empty handed.

They didn't find her body for another three hours. The police and their divers were an hour away and the lake was deep. They had tried to get Jack to leave the side of the water but he refused. Sam tried to drag him away but it wouldn't work, he screamed and bit and fought until finally he was allowed to stay. So he was there when she was pulled up. He saw the whiteness of her skin as she was gently laid down on the muddy bank, her golden hair was matted and dirty, he noticed the way her blue eyes were staring at the sky and wouldn't close. His eyes travelled down her body as he tried to hold back the tears…and then he saw the rifle.

She'd obviously been worried that it would fall off the raft. Somehow in her young brain, she had thought it a good idea to try and keep it safe. So she'd wrapped it carefully in plastic, even bound it with twine….and she'd tied it to her ankle. Jack couldn't stop the thought, 'that's so stupid' running through his head, and immediately hated himself for it, even as the world spun and he collapsed onto the ground, oblivious to everything but the pain.

----------------------------------------------------

There were tears running down his face now and he didn't try to stop them. The sun had risen and he felt its rays shine down on him. He couldn't stop crying. In the years that followed her death, he'd held in so many tears – it seemed that they'd been held on account. He cried until his body was weak, he gripped his knees and curled himself as tight as he could. But he didn't try to stop them, not this time. He was finally able to let them flow.


	20. Peace Part 20

Peace – Part 20

Jack had cried himself out by the time the sun had risen fully. He considered going back to the cabin, but found that he was unwilling to move. The idea of another day just sitting around and trying to figure out Conrad just wasn't appealing. He needed some space and some time to think, and it was nice down here by the lake. The heat wasn't so stifling for a start, there was a coolness that came off the water although it reflected the light into his tired and puffy eyes, which was a bit of a pain. He wished he had brought his shades with him but he hadn't, so that was that.

Eventually he shifted his position on the rock. He had been sitting cross-legged for about four hours now without moving and he realised that his legs were asleep. Jack leaned back and stretched them out in front of him, using his withered stomach muscles to balance himself. It wasn't long before they started complaining loudly about the unexpected work, so he gingerly lowered his feet to the floor and stood up, stretching as he did so. Soon pins and needles forced him to sit back down again but he felt a little better for the movement.

What now? Jack was confused again, and he felt depressed but he was used to that by now, so he just went with it and analysed what he knew rather than what he felt. He knew he felt a little better for simply thinking about Savannah after all this time; he didn't realise just how much he'd been bottling up. Maybe being able to cry about it had helped, maybe not. He wasn't used to crying so it was hard to say whether that made a difference but he did acknowledge it was a relief to be able to think freely about his sister and not have to block off thoughts of her, as he'd been doing for years. Jack found himself remembering all sorts of things about her that he had no idea he'd still known. It was kind of comforting but he wasn't sure about what do next. Go back and face his brother? Or stay here and just wait to see what happened next? He was torn, so he ended up just sitting and staring over the water, his mind a blank.

His problem was solved for him after a little while. He didn't have to turn round to know that Conrad had come through the trees and was approaching – he could hear his footsteps and feel his presence.

'You alright Jack?'

He didn't bother to answer. He was tired and worn out and his mind didn't seem to be working properly. He just wanted to be still for a while and stop trying to fight his way through every painful emotion. It was starting to take its toll.

'Jack?' He sighed. As usual, Conrad just couldn't leave it alone. He turned to look at him, resigned to the fact that it would show that he'd been crying.

Con was shocked at the sight of his face. 'What happened?' Jack shrugged.

'I couldn't sleep. It was too hot, so I thought I'd get some air. I don't know why I ended up down here but…' He didn't finish the sentence but he didn't need to. With unusual clarity of thought, Con knew instantly what he'd been re-living.

'Oh.' He didn't know what else to say and an awkward silence filled the air. Jack sat still and quiet while Con fidgeted through it. How could he try and comfort Jack through this? He'd caused it – not intentionally of course, but he'd been a jerk back then. And at the same time, he felt he should be able to say something. After all, she was his sister too and he had felt the pain as much as any of them. They had all mourned together, for a while at least. This should be something he and Jack could share now, something that they could talk about. But because of what had happened afterwards it was yet another subject that just bred unease. Con was getting tired of dancing around every topic because of guilt, or recriminations or whatever – especially as he couldn't quite figure out what to make of Jack and his work. He didn't like not knowing where he stood and he also didn't like the way his little brother was making him feel inadequate. But he stifled this for the time being and just waited. He didn't start talking because he didn't know what to say.

Eventually Jack shifted slightly and ran his fingers through his hair. 'I didn't go to visit her grave because Dad said I couldn't.'

'What?' He wasn't sure he'd just heard that right.

Jack dragged his eyes from the water and turned round on the rock to face him. 'After he sent me away – he said I could never go and see it. He said I'd put her there and didn't deserve to go and pay respects. I thought I'd go during vacations when I wasn't at school – but no, he'd made sure that I wouldn't get close enough to LA. And after I graduated and was at UCLA…well, I'd started to believe he was right, I didn't deserve to go. And I'd met someone by then. She tried to get me to visit, even said she'd come with me but I told her that my family was in the past – I wanted to start a new one. We got married. I was a father myself by the time I was twenty. And I didn't ever go back. I tried to start again.'

Con sat down on a grassy bank. He didn't know what had prompted Jack to open up but he wasn't going to complain. And he didn't want to believe that their father would do such a thing. 'You had a kid when you were twenty? And married? That was young.'

Jack shrugged. 'We were in love.'

'But it didn't work out?'

'Yes it worked out. We were married until four and a half years ago.' His head dropped and he stared at the ground. Why was he telling him this now? He hadn't wanted to.

'What happened then?'

He raised his head and forced himself to look at Conrad. 'She died.'

There was instant sympathy on his face and Jack felt ill. He didn't want – or deserve – sympathy. Shit, he'd have to explain properly.

'I'm sorry Jack, really. I can't imagine what it would be like to lose Sheila – it must have been awful for you. Was she sick?'

'No, she wasn't sick. She _was_ pregnant though.' Shock and confusion registered and Jack had to look away because he didn't want Con to see the tears brimming in his eyes.

'Jesus! Then why?.....I mean…what happened?'

'She died because of me. She was murdered by…' he couldn't quite bring himself to say it, not just yet. '…a terrorist. And it was my fault.' He glanced back and he saw how confused Conrad was. He didn't blame him, he was the same way most of the time.

'How was it your fault? I'm really not understanding this at all.'

Jack got down off the rock and started to walk around in an effort to control his emotions. He had to finish this now he'd started it. 'Some people wanted payback for a mission I'd been on with CTU, a mission that went badly wrong. Teri and Kim were kidnapped and these people tried to use them as leverage against me, to make me do some things. Then they were going to be killed, along with me and someone else.'

'Who was the someone else?'

'Doesn't matter. Someone high profile. Anyway, I managed to stop the threat, but….' He stopped short as Conrad had suddenly gasped and shifted on the bank. Jack looked over with a question on his face.

'It was _you_!!'

'What are you talking about?'

'Someone high profile that was going to be killed, four and a half years ago. That would be about March time, right? Super Tuesday time?' Jack sighed heavily. He really hadn't expected Con to put it together.

'Yeah.' Con stared at him, willing him to spell it out. 'Yes Con, it was Senator Palmer. President, I should say.'

There was silence and Jack looked over. His brother's face was a conflict of emotions – shock, recognition, confusion….and he looked slightly awed too. 'That was you?!!'

He nodded.

'The news said there was a federal agent that saved his life. There was that bomb at the hotel. Everyone thought he was dead, but then….' Conrad looked up and stared at Jack's stony face. 'I don't understand.'

Jack shrugged. 'You must have caught the news late. The early reports at the time all mentioned me by name. That caused a hell of a stink, especially as the networks were after my picture. It took Division a while before they were able to convince the press that a guy who needed to work undercover at times really shouldn't be mentioned by name on the prime-time news.'

Con didn't seem to have registered any of that. 'It was you?' he repeated again. 'You saved President Palmer's life?'

'Well, yeah. That was our primary objective that day – we'd received intelligence of a threat against his life and were working to protect him. It wasn't just me, there were a lot of people involved. It's what we do.'

'But Teri and Kim? You said they were kidnapped?'

Jack nodded. 'The people after Palmer were trying to stop me doing my job. And we'd been involved in the mission I mentioned – the one they wanted revenge for. So they wanted to kill us both, and my family.'

'Why? I mean…what did you do that would make them want revenge?'

Con was having a hard time with all of this. The earlier feelings of jealousy had re-emerged ten-fold….not only had Jack helped with the nuclear bomb, he'd saved the President's life! Twice, if the news reports at the time were to be believed. He remembered how he had talked about the whole thing with his friends for _weeks_, how they'd all agreed that Palmers saviour – whoever he was – must have been Superman or something, that he was a hero and he should be given a medal. They had been so pleased that one American guy had foiled these terrorist assholes, that was why he remembered it so clearly now.

Con wondered how he would have felt if he'd known it had been Jack. He wanted to say he would still be proud – but the jealousy he felt right then called him a liar. It didn't just call him a liar, it swamped him, invaded him and made him feel like he was going to puke. He couldn't take this. He was NOT prepared to admire Jack. His little brother was NOT someone that could better him….

'The man behind it all…' Jack hesitated. He hadn't spoken much about this and it still hurt, he still felt bad about it. But Con would surely know that it hadn't been intended when he explained it properly, so he swallowed and said softly 'I'd accidentally killed his wife and daughter two years before.'

Conrad visibly jolted. 'You did _what_?!'

'They were somewhere they shouldn't have been. What I mean is, we didn't expect them to be where they were – they just got caught up in…..what's the matter?' Jack stopped because Conrad had gone red in the face. He looked like he was about to explode.

The way Jack had said that was just too much. The jealousy and hurt pride that had been simmering for a few days now suddenly erupted, and he couldn't hold it in. He'd heard Jack talk of killing a few times now – how _dare_ he be so matter-of-fact about it! Conrad thought of his own young son – would Jack kill him too if he felt he had to? This man was a lunatic! He didn't stop to think of the reasons behind it, he didn't consider Jack's training or who he worked for. It didn't occur to him to ask for his motivations for these actions – all he could think about was that Jack had no right to be standing in front of him, a fcking drug addict, calmly talking about saving people and killing people in virtually the same sentence. It made Con sick to think he'd admired the man who had saved Palmer's life – why the hell did it have to be this little junkie prick? Why couldn't it have been someone decent, someone more like himself?

'Jack…you're – you're a fcking maniac or something!! Yesterday you tell me that you were ready to kill a kid because of his father being a terrorist. Now you're telling me that you got your wife killed because of your job, and that you 'accidentally' killed a guy's wife and daughter because 'they were somewhere they shouldn't have been'!!' Jack stared at the raging face in shock, not understanding where this outburst was coming from. 'What the fcks the matter with you? How often do you kill people, accidentally or not? They teach you that when you grew up? Or did you somehow get a taste for it when you were eight?'

He stopped abruptly, suddenly aware that he'd gone too far. Jack went white and took in a sharp breath as though he'd been punched.

'What did you just say?'

'I…' Conrad had his hands raised in a gesture of apology – and almost pleading. He wasn't so stupid that he couldn't see what was coming - and he was scared.

'WHAT THE FCK DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?!' He was yelling, his fists tightly clenched by his sides and his muscles tight as he tried to control his sudden fury.

'Jack, I'm s….'

He didn't get a chance to finish as Jack lost control. He strode forward and punched him squarely on the jaw, his fist making a satisfying deep 'thump' sound as it connected. Con staggered back, holding his face and trying to stay on his feet. Jack advanced slowly.

'Say it again Con. I fcking dare you.' His voice was deep and slow but vibrating with barely-controlled menace.

'No, I didn't mean…..' He was cut off again as Jack grabbed him by the throat and closed round his windpipe, forcing him to stand straight.

'Go on, Con say it again. You want to tell me that I killed Savannah? Do you?! I know you think it. So FCKING SAY IT AGAIN!!!'

Con whimpered slightly as he struggled to draw breath and tried to shake his head. Jack saw the movement and increased his grip, making Con start hitting his arms weakly to try and get release. He looked down into the raging blue eyes and knew then, with terrifying clarity, that Jack would kill him if he couldn't make him stop. But he found himself whispering around the tightness of his throat…

'You're a psycho. A murdering fcking psycho….'

He would never know if those words had saved his life or whether Jack just managed to get himself under control. All he knew was that he suddenly found himself on the ground, coughing painfully while struggling to fill his lungs with the warm air that surrounded him. He was scrabbling in the dirt at Jack's feet and the man just stood there, not moving, calmly watching his desperate struggles. After about five minutes he managed to sit up and his breathing had returned to something approaching normal. Jack had still not moved or spoken and Con looked up at him fearfully, wondering what was going to happen now. He looked almost serene standing there, his face a total blank. No hint of anger or remorse. He just stood, completely motionless, like a statue.

'Well Jack? Are you going to finish me off? That's obviously what you like to do, you asshole. Do you get off on beating the crap out of me or something?'

Jack didn't hear him. Although he looked calm, his mind was on the verge of explosion. All he could think was that he wanted to end this man, and painfully. The desire to strike was so thick he was trembling inside and he didn't trust himself to move an inch. He'd just explained that his pregnant wife had been murdered by a terrorist. Conrad now knew that he'd saved the President's life – he knew that he'd helped stop the nuclear bomb. And all he could do was blame him for killing their sister? That was it?

He felt like he was going into meltdown. What was the point? Where was all this getting him? Maybe he hadn't explained things well to Conrad – but it didn't matter. Because no matter what he said, he was still the kid that his brother remembered. If he thought of him as a man, it was as a no-good junkie that had appeared out of nowhere and beat the sh!t out of him twice now.

And that was all people were going to see when he got back. If he went back to CTU now, they'd all look at him as a man that had failed. Even with what he'd done, hundreds of people had died that day in the hotel. The virus had still got out. They'd think he'd failed because he was high and out of control. Kim didn't want him. He had no one to care for - and Conrad was a walking example of how an 'outsider' would view him. Hell, there weren't many people on the 'inside' to know any better. He didn't have any friends anymore. The closest work colleague he had was now rotting in jail and his partner was in hospital – where he'd put him.

It didn't matter if he did things for the greater good. He'd still failed. He'd killed too many people and they were never going to stop haunting him. And for what? He looked down at the wheezing pile of shit at his feet. He'd broken himself, over and over – to save this? And people like him? Why? All they saw was the bad things. They weren't impressed with things that might have happened if he hadn't done his job. If he stopped something happening they never knew about it, it didn't touch them. They only knew about the times he'd failed, when he'd been unable to stop the latest group of crazies.

He'd never wanted recognition, didn't need it. But to stand here, after everything that had happened to him, everything he'd done…and be blamed for a childhood accident - it was too much. It was the last straw. Jack gave up. Con was right, their father had been right. He deserved what they said. Yes he did. Because he'd broken the rules that night when he was a child and every time he broke the rules, people died. Those innocent prison guards? His fault. Claudia? His fault. The people at the hotel? His fault. Savannah? Teri? He felt the tears welling up suddenly. Yes, his fault. His baby too.

Jack moved finally. He turned to look out at the water one more time, drinking in the outstanding beauty that stood before him. It really was stunning. He murmured something under his breath then turned away to look at Conrad, who's eyes had not left him.

'Yes you're right. I killed her.' Con shook his head but somehow, no words would come out. The look on Jack's face was paralysing him with fear – not for himself suddenly, but for his brother. He looked like a man on the edge and he had no idea how – or even if – he should talk to him.

'Yes, I've killed a lot of people. I thought I was doing the right thing. Maybe I am a murderous psycho. But who cares? What's the point? In a hundred years we'll all be gone anyway and none of this is going to matter. None of us matter Conrad.'

He turned and started walking back to the cabin. Not a slow, depressed shuffle – a walk with a purpose, as though he had somewhere to be. Con heaved a sigh of relief. He was glad to be on his own, Jack had been really scaring him. He gingerly felt his jaw and swallowed a few times to see how much his throat hurt - it was bad but bearable. He briefly wondered what it was that Jack had said under his breath a moment ago, but dismissed it. He didn't care. He was going to sit here for a while and let Jack get back. Then he would follow behind, pack up his things and go. Con wanted to go home and see his son. His brother could go to hell.

He stared at the ground, passing the time, and was dismayed to feel his anger ebbing away. He tried to hold onto it but it wouldn't stay with him. He was angry at Jack for hitting him again obviously, but he was sorry that he'd sparked his temper with what he'd said. He didn't blame Jack for Savannah's death. Or himself really – it was just one of those things that happened. He'd let it go, years ago.

As for the other stuff – well, he didn't like that he felt jealous but he couldn't seem to help it. Jack was always the golden boy when they were young, in his mother's eyes at least. Then he screwed up and Con finally got some attention from his parents. And now he had to admit to himself that Little Brother was a bona fide American Hero. He'd saved lives. Conrad so wanted that sick feeling to come back, the one that had invaded him when he'd heard about that wife and daughter that Jack had 'accidentally' killed. But it only did for a second or two – it kept getting swamped by the realisation that 'Jack saved the President's life…..'

And he was proud of him. Hated him with a passion right then – but was proud of him at the same time. He still wanted to leave, and straight away…but maybe he should apologise first and try to make some kind of peace. Yes, he would. Then he could leave with a clear conscious and Jack could go back to whatever it was he had been planning to do up here.

Conrad stood up from the grass and stretched out. He idly looked around and wondered if he'd given the guy enough space now. Yeah, he'd be almost back. Safe to go. His gaze fell upon the rock to his right where Jack had been sitting that morning and it brought back a memory from when he was twelve. He'd been sitting on that rock when her body was brought back in. He'd looked to his left and watched as they simply laid her on the ground, knowing that CPR would be useless. Which meant that…he looked at the grass beneath his feet. Yes. He was standing exactly where her body had been. This was where Jack had been throttling him. He could have died here as well, if he hadn't stopped.

Conrad didn't know what suddenly made him feel uneasy. Maybe it was the glimpse of dark clouds that he saw poking around the top of the mountains. Maybe it was simply that he was standing where his sister's corpse had lain. Maybe it was something in the way Jack had walked away, or something in his eyes when he'd spoken those final words to him - but suddenly he knew that there was something badly wrong….

….final words! Shit! All of a sudden he was running as fast as his legs would take him, leaping over the rocks and uneven ground that lay between him and the forest. His already-injured throat started complaining immediately and he swore as he struggled to get the breath he needed to run. Why was he so stupid?! Why had he just sat there? He pushed himself on, the familiar path seeming to stretch forever in front of him, willing his legs to move faster, praying that his lungs wouldn't give out. 'Yes Lord, I hate him…' he repeated silently. 'But please, don't let me be too late…'

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jack hadn't run. He didn't feel the need to. His mind was calm and his body moved easily and without pain. The decision had been made and he left it alone, no need to poke at it. He wasn't going to change it now.

He reached the cabin and stopped, taking one last long look at it. It was the source of so much pain – but it was just a house. Nothing more. Just wood. It would be gone eventually and no one would have a clue what went on here. Like him really – when he was gone, it wouldn't matter. Kim would get over it.

He walked inside and straight up the stairs. A quick rummage in his pack produced a letter with her address on it – he put it on the shelf where Conrad would find it. Hopefully he'd do the decent thing and stick it in the mailbox in town. If not, CTU would find the car eventually and there was another letter in there.

Jack picked up the shiny needle. It wouldn't be what killed him. That would not be the way he went, never. But fck it, why not go out happy? It didn't matter. Who was going to know? Who even cared?

He expertly filled the needle to his normal dosage. Although his mind was clear, his pulse quickened with anticipation and he felt alive again. He smirked at himself – just the thought of this stuff made him feel better. Why did he ever bother trying to stop?

He picked up the tourniquet and tied it quickly, his hands working feverishly as his desire got stronger and pulled at him. He always enjoyed this part, the urgency was fun as long as he knew he wasn't going to be denied.

Done. He pumped his fist as he picked up the syringe, walked over to the mattress and sat down on it with his back against the wall. Might as well be comfortable this last time. The vein was popping. He grinned at it in satisfaction, raised the needle so the point rested gently against his skin. Oh yeah….

As ever, he waited a few seconds, letting the desire grab him properly until he could taste the bitter adrenaline in his mouth, until he was almost aroused with the want that flooded him. Then he slid the point forward until it penetrated the vein, waited a beat….and then slowly, carefully, lovingly….depressed the plunger.

He moaned softly as he felt it wash through his system, cleansing him of pain, of turmoil, of suffering. He let his mind soar above everything, felt himself fly, felt the sweet rush of pure joy encase him and lift him out of his skin. He was free again…he could at least die free…

He focused enough to withdraw the needle and remove the tourniquet. He allowed himself a few moments to enjoy the rush, to savour the sweetness of a calm mind at ease with itself again….then he stood, a little unbalanced at first but steady enough. Steady enough to walk the few steps across the room to where his gun lay, gleaming darkly in the morning light.

Jack smiled at it, reached forward and felt it's hot metal slide against his skin as his hand closed around it. The relief he felt almost drove him to his knees…'another minute, and this will all be over.'

He so wanted it to be over. He was done. Jack walked back to the middle of the room, and knelt carefully, the gun resting against his thigh. Just one minute to say goodbye…


	21. Peace Part 21

Peace – Part 21

Jack raised the gun to his temple in one smooth, fluid movement. There was no hesitation, no fear. He knew he was doing the right thing and his mind was at ease. He was still flying from the heroin but he was focused, single-minded, determined. This was the right thing to do. He needed release – he couldn't do this anymore. All the fight had left him and he was tired. It was time to rest.

He allowed himself a final run of memories. He deserved this pain. He thought of Savannah – that last glimpse of her golden hair in the moonlight. She had died trying to help him, died because he was too scared to finish a job. This would make up for that.

Teri…he smiled. He so wanted to be with her. It wouldn't be long now. He could remember her touch, the way she felt in his arms. He wanted to hold her again, tell her he loved her. He could feel her waiting for him.

Kim would be alright. She was a grown woman and she'd seen his struggles. She would understand and she knew that he loved her. The letter would explain everything and although he knew it would hurt at first, she would get past that. He just hoped that some part of him had made her proud, once. Maybe she would remember that eventually.

He was doing this for freedom. His freedom – and for the freedom of those around him. Kim would no longer suffer for his behaviour. And he'd never have to kill again. The relief was so strong…all the death had added up and the bill needed to be paid. That was how he saw this. He was just settling up.

Those things he'd done in Mexico haunted him. The people in that hotel. Every innocent person that had ever died because of his decisions, every one that had died by his hand – Jesus, there were so many he couldn't remember them all. That was disgusting. He should know them all.

Saunders. Drazen. Maybe they deserved it. But what had their deaths achieved in the long run? There were many more lining up to take over their work. It would never end, he'd never be able to stop. And look at what he'd had to do to Chase. Look what had happened to Tony and Michelle. To Gael. To Mason. To Chappelle.

Oh God…Ryan.

His gut tensed and the gun started to shake slightly.

Images flashed across his mind , memories attacked him and suddenly Jack couldn't stop the tears that filled his eyes. Ryan walking on shaking legs, knowing he was about to die on the whim of a madman. Knowing that his death would serve no purpose whatsoever. But he did it anyway.

Ryan trembling in fear, asking if they'd done everything they could. Asking if Jack could think of anything they'd overlooked. And he'd come up blank – he couldn't think of anything that would save this blameless man's life. He'd failed him.

The gun shook some more and he had to concentrate to keep it steady. But the images wouldn't stop.

Ryan begging to be allowed to take his own life.

The tears on his face.

Ryan on his knees – in exactly the same position Jack was now….

No! Fuck, NO!! Jack tried to steady the gun, to banish the thoughts. It was too late for this shit! He'd given in, he'd fixed. He had promised himself he'd die if that happened again.

The pictures wouldn't stop. They just wouldn't. Tears rolled down his cheeks and pain – indescribable pain – pierced through the haze of drugs and made him gasp for breath….

Ryan hadn't been able to take his own life. Jack had had to do it. He'd had to blow the back of the man's head off, listen to that dull 'thud' as the lead had smashed through the skull and embedded itself in his brain. What had he said…'God forgive me?' Had God forgiven him? Because he hadn't forgiven himself.

The gun wobbled and slipped. He placed it back in position, feeling the hot metal bruise his skin as he pushed it hard against his head. His grip tightened so his knuckles were white, but he didn't pull the trigger. Not just yet.

Jack closed his eyes, tried to will himself to regain his focus. He wanted to go out with a peaceful mind. But no matter what, all he could see was Chappelle's face as he had stood in front of him, watching the man on his knees in the dirt. Watching as he tried to summon the courage to end his own life. He couldn't do it…but he hadn't tried to run. He'd given up his life, even though he knew his death would serve no purpose. That was the bravest thing Jack had ever seen…

…and here he was, on his knees, a gun to his head.

The tears dripped onto his bare thighs and ran down to the dry wooden floor.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Con nearly collapsed when he reached the house, his chest heaving and his breath coming in huge ragged gasps through his injured throat. But he forced himself to keep moving, praying all the time that he'd made it in time. He didn't care if Jack could hear him coming, he ran as fast as he could through the house and up the stairs, dreading what he might see but unable to stop.

What he saw was an image he knew instantly he would never, ever forget. There was a used needle on the floor by the mattress, a tourniquet discarded next to it. Jack was kneeling in the middle of the room wearing only a pair of shorts. His body was convulsing with sobs and he gently rocked back and forth on his heels. Both hands were pressed to his eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears and the barrel of the gun in the right hand rubbed against his forehead and mussed his hair, his finger was still on the trigger….he hadn't put it down when he started to cry.

He looked so small, so boyish – so broken. Like a ten year old with a gun. Con couldn't begin to comprehend what had happened to bring him to this point, it was so alien – and yet so human at the same time. Incredible suffering, unimaginable pain and sadness and grief – Con had only to look at the figure in front of him to truly understand the full meaning of those words. Sorrow for his little brother engulfed him in a great flood and tears began to roll down his ashen face. The pain coming off Jack was overwhelming and Con could hardly bear it, he could feel its suffocating presence filling the room, and he could barely breathe through it.

He didn't even think about what he was doing. He walked into the room and fell to his knees in front of Jack, wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. He didn't even know if Jack was aware of him doing it, there was no resistance but no movement to show he was conscious of Conrad's presence. But Con held on tightly, desperately, too scared to let go.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jack hadn't been able to pull the trigger. When he thought of Ryan's bravery he just couldn't bring himself to do it. It would be the biggest act of cowardice, the biggest sell-out. He had thought it would be brave, that it would be the best for everyone…but it wasn't. He was just running away. Just as Mason had pointed out to him on the plane. Jack had never thought of himself as a quitter, so to suddenly see himself as one – to see himself at his worst….there were no coherent thoughts. He couldn't think any more, he was a mass of painful confusion and conflicting emotions and his brain just shut down. He was not aware of his surroundings or even who he was; all he could do was cry.

Conrad held onto him for dear life, his own tears falling onto Jacks naked shoulder. The guilt was incredible – that he had been part of this, that he had contributed to driving someone this far. He knew there was more to it than his part but he realised somehow that it was his comment at the lake that had prompted Jack to think of this – he never thought his words could have this impact. He'd never seen anyone in this amount of pain and he didn't know what to do.

Eventually Jack's body softened. Con leaned back and reached forward, gently moving the gun from the unresisting hand. He placed it on the floor and studied the face in front of him while keeping one hand on his trembling shoulder.

'Jack? Are you with me?'

The blue eyes were uncomprehending as they stared, the hands that had covered them dropped to rest on his thighs. Con glanced down and could see the needle mark on the left arm. It didn't matter. He moved his hand from the shoulder to the back of the neck, holding it carefully but forcing him to look at him.

'Jack.'

'Con…' The tears were still falling but relief washed through him once again as Jack responded – he was afraid he had lost his mind there or something. He smiled a watery smile and pulled him into another hug – this time Jack held on. Adrenaline started to flow and he couldn't stop talking.

'Jack I'm so sorry. So, so sorry. I should never have said what I did. I didn't mean it. I was angry and jealous – God, I've been so jealous! Ever since you told me what you did, what you've made of yourself. I could never do the things you've done and I hated you for it. But I never meant for you to do this, I never thought you would ever….' he paused, unwilling to spell it out. But he couldn't stop for long '…..and back when we were kids, that was my fault too. Savannah died because of me, not you. I was such a jerk and you didn't deserve that, you didn't deserve any of it, oh God I'm so sorry….'

Jack didn't trust himself to speak. He didn't know what to say, what he felt, how he was going to cope. He just let go as Con babbled on, he didn't listen. His thoughts drifted aimlessly, not touching anything, a fog in his brain that he didn't try to find a way out of. He was so tired. He could have slept for years. And he couldn't pull himself together enough to form a response. He felt his eyes closing as he leant on his brother's shoulder and he didn't try to stop himself as he sank slowly into the silent, waiting darkness.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Con realised the body he was holding had gone limp. He was alarmed for a second until he felt Jack's chest moving steadily next to his. He had just passed out, or fallen asleep. He smiled with relief and moved into a position where he could lift the weight, then he picked Jack up and carefully carried him over to the mattress. He laid him down and covered him over, then went and retrieved the gun. He weighed it in his hand. Conrad's brain told him that he should take it away, move it out of temptations reach – but his instinct told him that was wrong. Jack was his own man. Something said that this was significant – he needed this gun. It was not Conrad's place to take it away and deny him the right to choose his own fate. He sincerely hoped that Jack would never use it in the way he was planning to a few moments ago…but if he did, that was his choice. Con couldn't control that – all he could do was be there for him and hope he would choose life.

He walked over to the shelf and placed the gun back where it had been before, next to the drugs. The white envelope caught his eye and he picked it up – it was addressed to the niece he'd never known he had. A thought crossed his mind and he smiled. He'd seen the girl's picture. She'd looked beautiful and had instantly reminded him of Savannah. He would have liked to see the picture again but he wouldn't go looking for it. No, it was up to Jack to show it to him if he wanted to.

He turned to look at the sleeping figure on the mattress. Jacks face was red from crying and he'd broken the skin in a small circle on his right temple. Conrad shuddered as he realised it was from the barrel of the gun and it hit home again just how close he had been to losing this man. Yesterday – hell, a couple of hours ago – he would have blustered in his mind about how he didn't care if the motherfucker died or not…but now he saw that that was stupid. He _did_ care. He'd just had to nearly lose it before he saw it.

There was no point standing here doing nothing. He needed to think. So he walked slowly down the stairs and automatically started to make a coffee while his brain tried to come to terms with what had happened.

He couldn't deny it or walk away from it – he was a prize idiot. He hadn't considered Jack's feelings when he spoke; he hadn't even tried to gage the full depth of his brother's emotional distress. He'd just bulldozed his way through the situation – just like their father used to do. Conrad's heart sank. He couldn't deny that similarity either. He had treated Jack just like Sam had; no wonder the guy broke down.

The image of Jack sobbing upstairs with a gun in his hand crossed his mind again and his insides clenched with horror at what might have happened. And for the first time, he realised that things should be different between them now they were adults – he had approached the situation as though they were kids, because the last time he'd seen Jack he'd been fifteen years old. Somehow he'd forgotten about the twenty five years that had passed and reverted back to the way he had been then. And shit, he'd known for _years_ what a prick he'd been when he was younger. But somehow he'd forgotten.

He picked up the coffee and walked back upstairs. He wanted to be there when Jack woke up, just in case something happened. And he wanted to be close to him. He would try everything he could to stop Jack getting back to where he'd just been – there must be a way to help him somehow.

He hadn't moved and the first thing Con did was to check he was still breathing. He was, so he grabbed a chair from another room and sat down, watching the sleeping face and sipping his drink, trying to figure out what to do and what he was going to say when he woke up. But he couldn't focus on practicalities somehow, his thoughts dragged him back in time instead, back to how all this had started.

They had been close once, he remembered. All three of them. He'd been four when they were born and he could vaguely remember being excited when they'd been brought back from the hospital. He'd played with them when they were growing, he remembered their first words, when they first walked. But gradually, it all changed. He could recall feeling bad when everyone commented on how cute 'the twins' were and wondering why no one ever said _he_ was cute. He had watched as their mother fussed over them even after they had started school and he had felt ignored. It was their report cards that got all the attention, their placements on sports teams that was celebrated. It was all made worse by the fact that Con _knew_ they were smarter, he _knew_ that he wasn't as athletic or talented.

He'd failed the exams to get into that private school when he was seven. Naturally, both the twins passed them. Provided they passed the final exams in a few years – which they would of course – they'd be going there, while he'd be stuck at Santa Monica High, a permanent loser. His parents would forget about him completely then, he just knew it. It hadn't happened because after Savannah died, Jack wasn't allowed to go to any private school. He hadn't complained, just got his head down and made sure he was the brightest kid in SM High. Of course.

So he had tried to bring them down. Or rather – he had tried to bring Jack down. He couldn't bring himself to hurt Savannah because she was a girl and wasn't really a threat. Conrad was very glad about that after she died, at least he wouldn't have to feel guilty about being deliberately horrible to her.

And anyway – he hadn't thought anything he did was that serious. He just broke things and lost things and blamed it on Jack so he got the brunt of their father's anger. He watched for whenever Jack stole a cookie from the jar, then reported it to their mother. He bullied him into doing _his_ chores and threatened to beat him up if he squealed. Jack did once and Con went a bit too far, breaking his arm. Jack said a baseball had hit it and his parents believed him. He never squealed again. He tried to get even a few times but it generally didn't work – he was too young for any counteraction to be really effective.

It seemed like normal fraternal rivalry to Conrad. He never thought that Jack would see it differently and never imagined that one of his pranks would lead to the death of their sister. He knew afterwards that he should just own up and say the whole thing had been his idea – but somehow he just couldn't. So he told their Dad that Jack had dared him. He would retrieve the shotgun from the lake one night, and if he managed it, Jack would do it the next.

Sam believed him because Jack admitted it was true. The beating had been horrific and Conrad had watched. By the end of it, he'd somehow managed to convince himself that their story was in fact true, and that Jack deserved it. He stopped tormenting his brother for about a year though, mainly because he was so withdrawn that Con knew their mother wouldn't believe that the kid had done anything wrong. She fussed over him constantly and things were quiet in the Bauer house as they all fought to come to terms with what had happened. Con remembered spending a lot of time out of the house with his friends – and Jack became a shadow. Another reason he didn't bully him. He hardly even registered his presence.

It might have continued that way but everything changed a year later. They were supposed to go to the graveyard to pay their respects on the anniversary, Sam insisted upon it. Con thought back to one night in their LA house when he'd been walking back from the bathroom. It had been about midnight and he could clearly hear his parents arguing downstairs. He could hear his mother pleading, saying that she didn't want to go, that she couldn't face it. And Sam insisted, forced her, told her that she would be no kind of mother if she didn't.

Even though he wasn't around the house much if he could help it, even he noticed that their mother's behaviour was becoming erratic. She was forgetful, she would cry at the sight of little blond girls in the street, she would call for Savannah to get up in the morning when the boys did. She made three packed lunches for school every morning – Con pointed it out once at breakfast and their father had given them money for the school cafeteria ever since, after telling him never to mention it again of course.

Now Conrad looked back, it was clear that his mother had been building up to a breakdown. He wasn't surprised that he hadn't noticed at the time however, he knew he'd been completely self-absorbed. Her breaking point had come when they approached the grave site – she'd started sobbing and yelling, quickly becoming hysterical. Con had been scared, he didn't know what to do – and part of him thought she was being stupid by making such a scene. She was completely out of control. Sam had slapped her face, trying to bring her out of it but Jack had misunderstood, and in the biggest show of emotion for months, he had launched himself at his father, screaming at him to stop hitting her. To hit him instead.

Sam had recoiled in shock at those words. He had tried to push Jack off him gently, not understanding that Jack thought he was hurting their mother. But Jack wouldn't stop pushing him, it was like he'd been saving up all his speech this year and it was now erupting at the same time in one angry, violent torrent. Sam didn't know how to deal with it, Jack wouldn't calm down – so eventually he got what he asked for. Sam whacked him across the face, right there in front of Savannah's grave – even Conrad was shocked. As Jack hit the floor, their mother's crying stopped. She went numb and silent and a week later was completely catatonic. She went into a mental institution and their life was turned upside down again.

Con shook his head to bring himself back to the present and realised there were tears dripping down his face. He hadn't thought about all this in so long and he was disgusted to recall his part in all of it. Maybe it was shock at the morning's events, but he couldn't comprehend how he had ever acted the way he did towards Jack. He was horrified by the realisation that he'd been acting like his teenage self for the last few days, as if he'd never matured at all. How had Jack managed to stop himself from seriously damaging him earlier? He wouldn't have blamed him….

…not like back then. Jack was blamed again, for sparking the fight that led to their mother's initial breakdown. Sam was so upset at what had happened, and still grieving so much for his little girl, that it didn't take much from Conrad to convince him that it wouldn't have occurred if Jack hadn't acted the way he did. And again, the kid accepted the blame and retreated into his shell. This time Jack didn't have his mother there to look after him and Conrad began his bullying all over again.

If anyone had asked him at the time why he did this, he wouldn't have been able to answer. Or he would have said that his brother was a waste of space and deserved it. Looking back now, Con thought that maybe it was all about grief. He'd always portrayed himself as tough, maybe he just wasn't able to admit that he was sad. He knew he had never cried about Savannah in front of anyone else, not even at the funeral. He'd done all his crying in private and pretended he was fine to the outside world.

Or maybe he really did blame Jack. Maybe he really was that horrible and blind and stupid.

He looked down again at the sleeping figure, so peaceful now. The redness on his face had subsided, he looked like any regular person. There was no indication on his face of what he'd been through, what he was going through still.

Conrad's heart ached. He cursed himself for being so pig-headed. Jack hadn't deserved any of the things that had happened to him, not one. None of it had been his fault – and yet he had quietly taken the blame and never once hit back at Con. Maybe that's why he'd beaten up on him twice in the last few days…and he deserved much more than that. There was about eight years of crap to make up for – eight years of torment before he'd left and Con finally grew up.

Well, Jack wouldn't be able to take it out on him with his fists. But maybe he'd do worse. Maybe he would tell Con exactly what the consequences of his actions had been. Maybe he'd let his older brother in on his life and then he, Conrad, would be forced to face what he'd done.

Con hoped so. He deserved to carry some of the burden and he was literally incredulous that he hadn't seen it up until now. Couldn't believe that he'd almost had to lose his brother before he saw that he needed to take responsibility for what he'd done. He'd had it easy up to this point – maybe it was time to pay his debt. And he was ready to. He wanted to. He would never forget what he'd seen that morning and it was a kick in the butt that he'd needed. He almost felt relieved – like finally he could do something useful.

He shifted in his chair and settled again, waiting. He'd sit here for as long as it took. He had to make Jack see that he was sorry, had to prove that he'd been wrong. Con felt almost giddy with his purpose and resolve – he suddenly laughed silently in his head. Was this what it was like for those people who 'found Jesus,' he wondered? Suddenly realising that they needed to atone for their sins and beg forgiveness, and in doing so they would be set free?

The silent laughing stopped as he realised – yes, that was exactly what he was going to do. And hopefully, he wouldn't be the only one set free.


	22. Peace Part 22

Peace – Part 22

Jack drifted, not asleep and not awake, his mind unfocused as it touched gently on memories, people, places, grazing them lightly but never settling as his brain searched for a safe place to land. He didn't force it, was content to glide as he felt nothing, no pain, no weight, the passage from sleep to wakefulness a smooth, easy journey.

He gradually became aware of heat surrounding him, a general pleasant feeling of warmth that encompassed his entire body. He acknowledged it and moved on to other things but the awareness remained and he returned to it time and again until he could no longer ignore it. As soon as he realised that he could feel moisture on his skin his mind stopped floating and he woke up, still dazed and drowsy but no longer drifting.

He opened his eyes and blinked against the harsh sunlight that streamed through the window directly on to his naked face and torso. His eyes squinted and he turned his head away as he tried to focus. He noticed that there was a chair and a coffee mug on the floor next to it. Jack was overcome by a sense of déjà vu – where had he seen this before? This scene looked familiar…

The horror came crashing through his sleepy façade, it's fragile walls no match for the crushing blow of reality. Jack froze as his mind rebelled – no, NO! I didn't. I couldn't have. Oh shit. Oh shit…..oh God, no please, tell me I didn't, tell me I didn't fail, tell me I stayed strong…oh God help me, I gave in, I couldn't take it, why couldn't I take it, why am I here, please tell me, oh shit, why am I here, WHY AM I STILL ALIVE! He could hardly gasp breaths as the lump in his throat threatened to choke him, he couldn't bear to think about what had happened and what he had done. Turmoil raged in his head and he couldn't clear it, all he could think about was the rock in the pit of his stomach, the sick feeling that threatened to overwhelm him, the crushing despair that pinned him to the mattress.

He had obviously slept through most of his high because even as he curled himself into a ball and started to cry, one thought managed to penetrate the mess in his head. He wanted a fix. He couldn't deny that he wanted one either and that made him cry harder – had he really gone through the last week for nothing? And as it happened, he wasn't even man enough to follow through on what he had planned to do. He had wimped out, so he was a failure twice over. Well, more than twice if you took the past into consideration but twice this week alone. Good going, even for him. As he cried into his pillow, Jack wondered if this was worse than all the other times – could he now honestly say he had hit rock bottom? Because he couldn't remember even feeling this bad, not ever.

* * *

Conrad was making coffee when he heard the unmistakable sounds of crying. He swore under his breath. 'Shit, I wanted to be there when he woke up.' He grabbed a bottle of water and ran up the stairs but paused at the door – maybe Jack wouldn't want him to see him like this. But he pushed the thought aside and entered the room anyway. Jack needed him and the least he could do was to let his brother know he was there for him.

He was curled up on the dirty mattress, holding himself tightly, his face buried in the old camping pillow he had brought with him. His frail body racked with sobs and Con's heart wrenched at the sight. He was at a loss as to what he could do. What could he say to help after all he had done to put him in this position? He'd spent the day wondering what he was going to say to Jack when he woke up but hadn't come up with anything. He wished he had been able to now but it probably wouldn't have helped anyway.

He walked forward softly and knelt beside him. Jack showed no sign that he was aware of him but Con reached forward anyway and put his hand on his shoulder.

'Jack? Jack its OK, please don't cry.'

The blond head shook in the pillow, silently asking him to go away.

'It is. Its OK.'

There was no response but Con didn't move, he just waited patiently. Jack didn't want to face him but in the end, it was his presence that made him try to gain some kind of control. Thinking of how to deal with Con gave him something to focus on and eventually his body stopped shaking and he was able to stop the tears. He tried not to think about anything because his body threatened to lose it again if he did.

After ten minutes or so he shifted and Con moved his hand. Jack sat up slowly, his face down so his brother didn't have to see the shame on it. He couldn't deal with the thought that he'd been seen in such a position as he had been in that morning, it was just too embarrassing. So he stared at the floor and wished he could disappear into it but at the same time he tried to collect his thoughts enough so he would have something to say for himself. It didn't help that he could see his syringe lying on the floor where he'd discarded it earlier that day…

Con had moved to sit in the chair and Jack shifted back so he could lean on the wall. Without looking at his brother he muttered

'I'm sorry you saw that this morning.'

Con silently let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. 'Don't be sorry Jack. I'M the one that should be apologising. I should never have said what I did at the lake, it was totally out of line.'

There was no response or movement from Jack but Con figured he was listening so he continued, the words tumbling out in a great rush. 'I'm sorry for the way I've been acting since I got here as well. I haven't been helping you at all, I can see that. I was so wrapped up in jealousy, I never really considered what you were going through. I saw the drugs and just took it at face value, I didn't properly think about what might have driven you to them. And everything else – I've been behaving like we were kids again. I'm so sorry Jack.' He stopped, because he wasn't sure if he was saying these things for Jack's benefit or his own. His brother had no reason to believe he was sincere so maybe he was making it worse by saying all this? He was hit with the realisation that he really didn't know what to do in this situation. What if he pushed the wrong buttons by accident and he flipped out again?

But Jack was listening and the obvious sincerity in Conrad's voice got through to him. He finally raised his tear-streaked face, looked into the worried brown eyes in front of him and whispered 'Thank you.' Then he looked down again but Con had seen the tears that had filled them and knew that Jack appreciated what he had said. He allowed himself a small smile of relief and relaxed a little bit.

'I mean it. I've spent the day thinking about how you have every right to hate me. I cant believe I've been such an idiot…' He was cut off by Jack raising his hand.

'Connie please. I do appreciate what you're saying. I just…I don't know what to do or what to think right now. My head's all over the place. Please don't apologise any more because I don't think I can take it.'

He couldn't look up again, didn't have the energy to move or speak any more words. He knew he was being watched and he felt like he was naked, it seemed like his entire psyche was on display. He didn't like it. It was too much to deal with, it was hard enough thinking about himself without taking on Conrad's guilt as well. But he felt so weak he knew that if Conrad ignored his plea and carried on talking, he wouldn't be strong enough to stop him. He'd have to listen and the fear of being made to think brought more tears that he couldn't stop. He tried to wipe them away with a shaking hand but there were too many, eventually he just rested his face in his hands and let them flow.

Con watched him and knew he had to back off. Seeing him like this brought back uncomfortable memories, memories of their mother after she came home from being in the institution. Even though she was better than she had been, sometimes she would become overwhelmed and would sit like this, unable to cope with emotion or thought. When that happened Sam would take her to her bedroom to let her have peace because they were afraid that too much stimulus would push her back over the brink. Con didn't have to be an expert to see that Jack was dangerously close to the edge right now. The best thing he could do would be to let him have some space.

'I'm going to go and make some dinner Jack. Why don't you go take a shower or something and come down if you want to. Or I can bring you some up here. Whatever you want.'

There was no response and Con felt like an idiot. He should just shut up and let the man alone. But was that the best thing to do? Or should he encourage him to talk? He didn't know so he got up and left, feeling worried and frustrated that he didn't know how to handle this.

Jack was glad when he went. He could sink back into the comfort of not thinking. It was surprisingly easy actually, his brain seemed to recognise his need for quiet. So he just sat for a while, staring at his hands, zoned out. Sometimes the noises of birds in the late afternoon sky penetrated his fugue, occasionally he was aware of the trees rustling in the breeze that had sprung up. He spent some time trying to ignore the little voice in his head that whispered about heroin and freedom. But mostly he just sat without a thought in his head, not even bothering to hope that he'd find the energy to get out of this.

* * *

Con paced the floor downstairs getting more and more confused as to what he should do. He really didn't know how to handle this and he knew it was important that he didn't mess up. But how could he stop himself messing up if he didn't know the right way to go? There was no answer to that so eventually he did the only thing he could think of to calm him down and that was to call his wife.

He kept the conversation light because he didn't want to worry her but Sheila still detected the stress in his voice and asked him to come home. She missed him, Jared missed him – what was going on up there? Con filled her in on the bare basics – that his little brother had shown up and needed help. He didn't say why but she was full of questions anyway…she didn't even know that he had a brother. After promising to explain the whole thing when he got home he steered the conversation back onto everyday stuff and it had the required effect, it calmed him down and by the time he hung up he was feeling better about things.

He started cooking a light meal and made enough for two, hoping that Jack would be alright with eating. He obviously needed the nourishment and Con sincerely hoped that using heroin again wouldn't pull him straight back into a full blown addiction. But he didn't know for sure and that was another thing he berated himself over as he cooked. 'Why don't you know anything about anything Con? Dammit!' But thinking like that wasn't doing any good so he forced it out of his mind and poured sauce on the pasta, then made up two plates, grabbed some cutlery and headed for the stairs. As an afterthought he went back and stuck a couple of beer bottles in his pants pocket.

Jack was pretty much in the position he'd left him, he had hardly moved at all. His face was blank although there was some evidence that he'd been crying. Conrad's heart sank but he smiled anyway and set a plate and a beer on the floor next to him.

'Thought you might be getting hungry.'

Jack stirred. He glanced at the plate, muttered a 'thanks' and reached for the beer. He drank listlessly and Con got even more worried. He tried not to show it, but as Jack didn't show any inclination to speak, he decided to just lay it out and hope for the best.

'Listen Jack, I've got to be honest with you here. I know that you probably think I'm a royal pain in the butt right now and that it might make your life easier if I'm not around. But the thing is…I cant go away and leave you like this. Not after this morning. Not before we've sorted things out between us. I realised so much today, stuff I hadn't been thinking about before. I should've though. And yeah OK, I'll admit that it's for my conscience as well – but mainly, I just really, really want to help. I haven't been helping up until now and I want to change that. Because you scared the shit outta me this morning, I'm not afraid to admit that – and…' he paused, afraid that this would sound too fake, even though he meant it. '…and I don't want to lose you.'

Jack looked him in the face but he didn't speak and his face didn't convey any emotion.

'So what I'm saying is – I'm not going anywhere. But I'm really not sure what to do here and I need you to help me out just a little. Just – tell me to back off if I'm talking too much or pressuring you. And come and talk to me when you need to. I know you don't trust me and I don't blame you but if you give me a chance, I might be able to help. I really want to help you if I can.'

He stopped and found himself holding his breath. Jack stared at him some more, as if he were trying to detect any hints of dishonesty in his eyes. After a few long minutes, his eyes dropped and he seemed to be thinking, his face was more animated than it had been all day. Then he reached forward and picked up the food.

'Didn't poison this did you?'

Con grinned with relief. 'The only dangerous thing about it is the fact that I cooked it.'

Jack tried to smile and started toying with the pasta, moving it around more than eating it. Con finished his off and waited until Jack decided to talk. It didn't take too long.

'I'm kinda glad you're here. Even if you are a pain in the butt. At least with you here you give me something other than my shit to deal with. I wasn't happy about that at first but who knows? I might of gotten high days ago if you hadn't of been here.' His voice shook at the mention of drugs. 'You got a smoke?'

Con passed a pack over and he took one, his hands trembling slightly as he lit it.

'I have to stay here until I'm done Con. I cant go back to LA like this. I need to find a way to get better but right now…right now I cant even begin to imagine how to do that. I might be here for a long time. I cant ask you to stay away from your life for that long.'

'Jack, I've got years to make up for, years and years. I can give you as long as you need. I have to do this. I know I have to. I cant walk away from you this time. So put all thoughts of that out of your head and tell me why you cant go back to LA at the moment. Tell me why you chose to come here, of all places.'

Jack dragged on his cigarette. He tried to think about what Con had said and ignore the nagging that was getting more and more insistent. He hadn't been clean long enough to fix and not get pulled back in, he knew it. His body knew it too and it was telling him in no uncertain terms that it was time to cook up again. He tried to shut it out and focus.

'But do you really want to hear it Conrad? Because I told you some things already and you freaked out. The rest of the stuff – well, its all just as bad, if not worse. There are things I cant tell you because they're classified.' He stopped as his stomach cramped ever so slightly and swore in his head.

'You can tell me whatever you feel comfortable telling me Jack. We need to talk about what happened with us as well. If you want to I mean, maybe its not important like the other stuff…' Con paused as he noticed that Jack was starting to sweat slightly. 'You OK Jack?'

Jack wasn't alright. He was horrified by the speed at which the withdrawal had started to overtake him again and he couldn't think of much else. His mind was full of fear – the memories of the last withdrawal horror were still fresh in his mind and the only thing he was certain of right now, was that he couldn't go through that again so soon. He just couldn't. Even if it wasn't as bad as it had been a few days ago – no way. He wouldn't be able to deal with anything that even came close.

'No I'm not. I'm getting sick again.' He could only be honest, there wasn't the strength of mind to lie right now. 'Con you were honest with me, now I'm gonna level with you. When you came here I had just spent three days and nights going cold turkey.' He grasped his stomach as it began to ache. 'Taking a hit this morning has ruined that. And I cant go through it again right now. A lot's happened in the last few days and I want to be able to think it through. But I cant do that sick.'

He looked up at Con and saw the look on his face.

'So what I'm saying is, if you cant handle what I've got to do right now, you should honestly leave. I'm not going to put a gun to my head again, you don't need to worry about that. But I cant deal with you and sort things out and go through withdrawal again at the same time. You understand what I'm saying?'

He did. Jack was saying he was going to use again. He wanted to ask – how bad can it be? Surely staying off it isn't so hard…but he saw the desperation in Jack's eyes, the way he was holding his stomach and remembered the state of him when he'd first come up here, and the words wouldn't come out. He just nodded mutely while his mind recoiled at the idea.

A look of relief came over Jacks face. 'You might want to leave the room.'

'No.' Con was surprised at how normal his voice sounded. 'No, I don't want you to have to hide it. You're doing it for a reason I guess and I wont judge you on it anymore. Go ahead.'

Jack didn't know what to say to that and was fast getting to the point of not caring. He knew he should feel mad at himself but the fact was, what harm was it going to do now? He needed to make a new plan of what to do next and he couldn't think straight. Hell, he'd spent the last few hours not being able to think at all. That wasn't going to help him get better, he needed to be able to work things through and start over. And if drugs would help him…well, they'd help. After things were square with Con, maybe he'd find it easier to quit again.

His hands were busy while his mind was thinking and justifying his actions to himself. Con couldn't help but be fascinated as he watched Jack set up his works. It seemed surreal to him, seeing this little procedure. Watching his brother shoot drugs in the room they had shared as innocent little kids, before any bad stuff happened, before life got in the way of things. The air was warm and the room was silent as Jack did his thing and Con could hardly get his head around what he was seeing. The surreal nature of it made him smile and shake his head. He never thought he'd ever know a junkie, let alone stand by and watch while one shot up in front of him. He knew he should be horrified but somehow he wasn't. Somehow, in a twisted way, this made sense.

He watched Jack pause and close his eyes as he held the needle to his vein and wondered what he was waiting for. Then they were open and he looked into them as the pupils shrank to pinpricks in a micro-second, as they became glassy and unfocused. He took in the slow and dreamy way that Jack untied the tourniquet, the expression of peace and calm that seemed to rest on his features, the way his body relaxed. And he couldn't help but feel glad. Because the Jack he had been seeing for days was gone, the man in pain and struggling and desperate could rest for a while. He deserved that rest, regardless of what came next.

Jack slumped against the wall and revelled in a calm mind. Not the calm of earlier where he was still because he simply couldn't bear the burden of thought, but calm because his mind relaxed and let go of all worry. He reached forward and grabbed another smoke, and when he lit it he was transfixed for a moment by the way the smoke rose and made patterns in the air. He saw Con's face through the smoke and it was disjointed for a moment which was weird enough to make him laugh silently in his head for a second. What was he thinking, this whole situation was weird!

He pulled on the smoke. 'I'm gonna take a shower Con. And then I'll tell you what you want to know. Why not? There's no reason to hide stuff anymore. I've got nothing to hang on to so I might as well just let go. And if you're not there to catch me, I'm sure I'll survive anyway.' He laughed dryly. 'I once heard someone say I had more lives than a cat and I don't think I've used them all up yet. Not quite yet anyway. So where's the harm?' He put out the cigarette and pulled himself up, grabbed a towel and some clothes and headed into the bathroom.

Con just sat and tried to work out what was going to happen next. He had no clue what Jack would tell him and no idea how they were going to talk about Savannah and their parents. He was scared of what Jack would say about his teenage years after he was kicked out of home. He worried that he wouldn't know what to say. But in the end he just stopped thinking. He decided to follow Jacks example and just let go. What was the worst that could happen? At least he'd have his answers and maybe this thing had a shot at being over. Maybe even ending well.

Perhaps that was too much to hope for. At this stage the best they could hope for was an ending, and one where Jack drove away from this place alive. Con decided to set that as a goal and everything else would simply be a bonus.

And with that he walked downstairs, readied a few bottles of Scotch and a whole load of beer and settled into a comfortable chair, ready to fix things as best he could.


	23. Peace Part 23

Peace – Chapter 23

Conrad paced around downstairs, waiting for Jack to finish in the shower. He hadn't been able to sit still in the lounge for long. He found it strange that he didn't feel particularly worried about what was to come, merely excited. OK, there was some apprehension too but only because he had so much to say and wanted it to come out in the right way. He was a little worried that now Jack had relapsed, he might be less reasoned and his ability to listen properly might be impaired but then, all attempts at talking up until now had been a disaster so it wasn't as though things could get any worse. Con found that the prospect of clearing the air with his brother was immensely appealing and started to think that maybe it had been playing on his subconscious more than he had realised. Then he had to laugh at himself – no, if he was honest, he hadn't really thought about it at all. Not for years. But now that he had the chance to fix things, he wasn't stupid enough to blow it off. He hoped not anyway.

It wasn't long before Jack appeared down the stairs, wearing faded jeans and a plain white T-shirt. He didn't speak but lit a cigarette and leaned casually on a kitchen counter top facing into the sitting room. He looked different somehow and Con took the opportunity to examine him - he didn't seem to mind. All traces of pain were gone from his body, he relaxed laconically like a big cat and his movements were fluid and steady as he dragged lazily on his smoke. The bandage on the back of his hand seemed very white against skin that was starting to tan again and Con realised that he'd never asked him what he'd done to hurt himself like that. He shifted his gaze to Jack's face. The sandy hair was damp and ruffled and made him look boyish while the blue eyes were sparkling, if a little glazed, and they seemed to hold a hint of amusement as Con looked him over. Eventually he lowered his cigarette and drawled,

'Well? Do I pass inspection?'

Con smiled bashfully, he didn't know he'd been that obvious.

'I was just thinking that it's kind of nice to see you when you're not in some kind of physical agony. You've been nursing all kinds of aches since I've been here, this is quite a change.'

Jack thought to himself that it seemed like he'd been aching and injured for most of his adult life actually but he didn't say that. Instead he smiled slowly, just a little. 'Medicinal powers of heroin Connie. I cant feel a thing.'

Con laughed even though it wasn't funny at all. 'Are you still hungry? I could…' He broke off, then answered his own question. 'No, I don't suppose you are.'

Jack's smile turned rueful as he considered how much Conrad had learned about drugs in the last few days. Before he came here he never would have known that smack junkies rarely eat and now he was a damn expert. It was kind of sad but he wasn't going to lose sleep over it at this point. Instead he pushed himself away from the counter without using his hands and reached for a bottle of Scotch.

'You want some?'

'Sure, OK. I'm going to make a sandwich too. I didn't make enough pasta before. Why don't you just stay there and we can talk a bit.'

Jack nodded and fought down the urge to laugh hysterically. Con was talking like their mother used to, right here in this kitchen while she made their lunch and asked them what they'd been up to that morning when they were out in the woods. She would always implore them not to run off and play upstairs when they came in, they should stay and talk to her – and they always did. Well, in the beginning they did. As Con got older he would more often go to his room and leave them to it but Jack still had a lot of fond memories of the three of them clustered around their mother in the kitchen while she put the finishing touches to a salad or a batch of cookies. The parallels with this new situation were just too funny and he had to turn away so that Con wouldn't see his face trembling as he fought to keep the laughter in.

But nothing was funny, not really. He didn't know what to do or how to make this right. Now that he was high again, the world was blissfully devoid of worry. All he had to think about was how long until the next hit. Or that's how it would be in a day or so. At the moment he wasn't far gone enough to not think about everything that had happened – so it was probably important to get all the talking done now. Because at the moment he had no intention of trying to stop again anytime soon. It had been too painful, too raw and he had to admit that going cold turkey just hadn't worked.

There was a brief flash of failure at that thought but it didn't last too long. Con was busy making his sandwich and Jack watched him, just as he had watched his mother in the past. It was relaxed and easy and he enjoyed that, even if he knew it might not last too long. And they might as well get on with it. He felt OK right now and much as he would like to stay feeling OK forever, he knew he couldn't like this. He needed to find a way for it to be alright without the aid of heroin. So he sighed and stubbed his cigarette out on the counter top.

'I said I'd tell you whatever you wanted to know, apart from the classified stuff. So let's do it. What do you want to know?'

Conrad placed a slice of bread on top of his creation and cut it in half. He took a bite and chewed slowly, mulling over Jacks direct question. What did he want to know? Or rather, what did he want to know first?

'Tell me about your family. You said your wife was killed. What happened?'

A shadow crossed Jacks face. He should have known he'd go for the hard stuff first. But he had said he would answer so…

'She was killed by a woman I had had an affair with, who also turned out to be a terrorist.'

He almost laughed as Con choked on the beer he was drinking. Would have laughed if he hadn't been taken back straight away, taken back to the way he had Nina at gunpoint once, but shit, he'd let her go…

'OK Jack, that went by me a little fast. You want to explain?' He had noticed the dark look that had passed across Jack's features but was too curious to let the subject drop. Besides, he wouldn't have said anything if he didn't want to talk about it, right?

Jack sighed again and ran his fingers through his still-damp hair, ruffling it up and making Con get struck once again by how youthful he looked sometimes – but his eyes were old, older than they should be. He pushed away from the counter, grabbed the Scotch and went to sit down in the lounge, sitting cross-legged in one of the armchairs. Con followed and got comfortable in a chair opposite.

'You sure you want to hear this?' He nodded and Jack dropped his eyes to the floor, trying to find an easy way for the words to come out.

'I'd been on a mission for CTU the year before. I can't go into details really but it went bad and all my men died. Well, all but one but that's a story for later. I thought they were all dead. I thought I was the only one to survive – and I knew we had been set up. Someone was expecting all of us to get killed.' He stopped, the familiar anger rushing through him at the thought of the betrayal of his Government and the Army that had once been his family. He could feel Conrad's eyes boring into him though so he lit another cigarette and suppressed the feeling as best he could.

'I had…well, dealing with it was hard. I never expected to get betrayed like that and it affected me I guess. I tried to keep things normal once I got home but I failed.' He closed his eyes and wished this didn't still hurt so much, wished that he could go back and make things right with Teri again.

'She asked me to move out after about eight months of it. I was so distant and I didn't even realise it. I couldn't understand what she was asking and didn't listen when she tried to explain. I just couldn't see it, I was angry with her for a while. But I moved out anyway. And she was right…' Jack paused to allow himself a hollow laugh. '…she usually was actually. The break helped. I saw how much I'd hurt her. But it took a while and I'd been sleeping with a woman I worked with before I realised it.'

He pulled at his beer, trying to hide the turmoil that even heroin couldn't kill. Why did he think this would be easier when he was high? In a way it was worse, the drugs heightened his emotions… 'Well, as soon as I realised that I wanted Teri back and I needed to make things right with her, I left this woman. She seemed like she understood. It wasn't like it was ever going to be a long term thing, she was my second-in-command for Gods sake and people were beginning to talk about us anyway. The Agency doesn't like relationships like ours. So I went back to Teri and things were a lot better, I was able to talk with her and I made more time with her and Kim.'

Jack stopped, and didn't know he was smiling as he remembered that first month at home when things were new again and he had hope that their relationship stood a chance after all. He had wanted it to work so badly, he had spent many nights watching Teri sleep beside him and wanting to hold her just so he could be reassured that she was really there. Wanted her skin against him so that it would ground him and keep the fear away. He often had to physically restrain himself from reaching for her because he didn't want to disturb her as she slept. But there were some nights when she felt his gaze on her face and would wake up and then it was her that reached for him, whispering in his ear that everything would be alright and she wasn't letting him go again, he would always have her…

Jack swore softly under his breath and he was suddenly brought back to the present as Conrad shifted in his chair.

'So everything was OK at this point. Did she know about the other woman?'

He forced himself to look up because he didn't want to cry again. 'Yes she knew. She didn't know who it was or that she knew the woman. I tried to tell her, I admitted that there had been someone else but she said that it was in the past and we should try and look forward instead. She was always so damn forgiving…' He lit another smoke for something to do.

'Anyway, yeah. It happened on Super Tuesday. Teri and Kim were kidnapped so that I would be forced to help the terrorists kill Palmer.' This was such old news to Jack that he didn't notice the look of surprise and horror on his brother's face. He was lost in the past anyway. 'A lot of stuff happened. I found them, then they were ambushed when I thought they were safe. They got separated, then Kim was grabbed again. It was a long day.' _And every time I think about it I get scared like I was that day, as though it's still happening. I fear for Kim every time I breathe and she doesn't know and I can't tell her how much I need her. And she hates me now and that scares me worst of all…_

Conrad noticed that Jack's breathing was coming faster and he looked distressed. Part of him wanted to stop this because he really didn't want to cause him any more pain – but part of him really wanted to know the details. Emotion won out over curiosity in the end, though he had to forcibly remind himself of all the things he'd promised himself he would do earlier that day – and one of them was not hurting Jack anymore.

'Look Jack, we don't have to talk about this. It's obviously hard for you and…'

Jack raised a hand and shook his head. Now he'd started it was easier just to keep going. That way Conrad would know and he would never have to speak it out loud to him again.

'No, it's OK. I'd rather get it out now.' He took a deep breath and forced himself not to think of Kim. Now that he was high again, he wanted her back so badly, the agony of withdrawal was fading into his memory as it always did after he'd shot up. Once again, giving up heroin seemed a small price to pay for having his daughter back in his life – but that all changed once the pain started, when he climbing the walls and would do anything, _anything_, for a fix.

And once again, he hated himself for knowing that he wasn't strong enough to put Kim first. He wasn't strong enough to kick this on his own and go back to her clean, so that she could be proud of him. Shit, he loved her so much but he just couldn't seem to do it and that hurt like a knife in the gut…

_Concentrate. Stop thinking like this. Answer his question and you can think about Kim later_.'I was captured by the hostiles and they were going to kill me but I managed to talk them out of it for a while. I didn't know they had Kim. They tried to use me again to get at Palmer – that's what you would have seen on the news, the bomb at his hotel. There was all that confusion about whether he was alive or not. What the news didn't say was that I had asked him to lie like that. If the terrorists thought that they were successful and Palmer had died, they wouldn't kill Kim. He's a good man and he agreed to go along with the charade until I had got her back.'

Con was surprised once again to hear about Jack's relationship with the President and it was strange for him to hear his brother talk so casually about a man that most people in the country had admired so much. There were question marks over him now of course and the press were taking some delight in ripping him to pieces due to the questionable decisions he'd made on the day of the virus outbreak – but a lot of people still remembered the way he'd dealt with the attempts on his life and how he had kept the country together after the nuclear bomb had gone off and they still had real respect for the man. That Palmer obviously trusted Jack was quite awe-inspiring but it was curious too.

Jack had paused and was drinking, while staring at some unknown vision in his head. He looked scared and Con wondered what he was thinking about, what terrible things he was reliving.

'Jack? Can I ask you something?'

'Yeah.' He sounded distant.

'Well – how was it that Palmer agreed to keep that secret for you? I mean – you didn't know him before that day right? So what did you say to him to get him to agree? It was pretty risky for him to pretend to be dead wasn't it?'

Jack listened to the question but his mind took in quite another one. What Con was really asking was, what did he do to Palmer to _force_ him to agree? What did he threaten him with? He smirked and thought about the history between himself and the President, a man who he honestly thought of as a friend – albeit a lopsided affair. He would never feel comfortable about not calling him 'Sir' for a start. But the man was genuinely likable and Jack would always be grateful for the lie that had saved Kim's life that day.

He couldn't explain to Conrad about Palmer agreeing to Nightfall and ordering the death of Victor Drazen. It was classified – and anyway, why would he let information like that out into the open? Better to give the storybook answer and let his brother live with the rose-tinted view of the world. And anyway – maybe he was being paranoid. Maybe Con had really got rid of all those doubts he'd felt up until a few hours ago. The memories of the bad things he'd said – especially that comment by the lake that morning – were still too raw for Jack to forget about completely though.

'He did it for me. Because I had saved him earlier that day already – and because he's a father. He could see how desperate I was and knew what this meant to me. He's someone who, despite being the most powerful man in the world, has never lost sight of what's really important. He's never lost his humanity.' _Unlike me_, was what he didn't say out loud.

Con was satisfied with the answer. He was glad he had been right about Palmer, the man was obviously trustworthy. Some of his friends had been mad about him voting for a black man – he'd had some doubts himself – but here was proof that he'd done the right thing. 'OK so…the President is playing dead. The terrorists have Kim and – what did you do?' This was better than a good novel. He was totally engrossed in the story and was only reminded that it was real by the look on Jacks face as he told it.

'I offered to give myself up. Trade myself for Kim. It was an easy decision for me to make. But then I spoke to Teri and she told me something that changed everything for me. Not about what I was going to do but…' he trailed off, trying to work out how he was going to explain how he had felt. Trying to put it into some kind of order in his head. At least his mind was relatively clear now – things were making sense a little better. Maybe heroin really would help him through this.

Jacks voice was soft when he spoke next and Con suddenly stopped thinking of this as an entertaining story. Suddenly it was very real and the pain coming off his brother was overwhelming.

'I called Teri from outside Palmers hotel. I was going to get Kim and I thought it would probably be the last time I ever spoke to her. The Drazens were going to kill me, I had no doubts about that. I would fight of course, but the odds were in their favour – I would never do anything to put Kim in danger, and if that meant walking up to them with my hands clear above my head so they could shoot me – so be it. Maybe I deserved it for what I had done to them anyway.' He paused for a second – had he meant that? Did he feel _that_ sorry about accidentally killing Drazens wife and daughter? Or were they just collateral damage when all was said and done? He didn't know and now wasn't the time to think about it.

'Anyway, that was when Teri told me she was pregnant. She'd just found out that day – neither of us had had any idea.' Fuck, he was going to cry again. His eyes filled but he couldn't stop now. 'She asked me if I was happy about it. And I was – I was so happy. For a second there, I imagined all of us together. Teri and I, and Kim safe and a new baby for a new start. I remember just leaning against a pillar outside the hotel, closing my eyes for a second and seeing it all – and I wanted it so badly. It was like heaven. For one second, seeing everything I had and feeling like the luckiest man on earth.'

Tears dripped and Con was stuck to his seat in horror.

'And then I opened my eyes and remembered that I was never going to have it. That if I didn't leave soon my daughter would be dead. And if I managed to save her – I wouldn't be alive to see them all together again anyway.' He looked up suddenly and his eyes blazed with anger as he stared into Conrad's. 'And you know what? I don't _deserve_ to be alive now! I _should_ have died that night – I have no right to be here. And Teri, who never hurt anybody – she should be alive with our baby and Kim right now. It should _never_ have been her…and it was, because of me' He broke off, trying to stifle a sob.

Con tried to speak but there was nothing he could say. He still didn't see how Teri had ended up dead but there was time enough for that. His heart was aching and he was trying to hold back tears too. Seeing Jack like this was horrible, he was a picture of repressed pain as he sat there trying not to fall apart yet again. Conrad wanted to tell him to just lose it if he had to but somehow his voice wouldn't work. This was Jack's story and he couldn't leave or speak now until he finished it. He was speaking now through heavy tears but anger and self-loathing made his voice clear. They were evident in every word he spoke.

'I went to where they told me to. I got there and told them I wasn't coming out until I saw Kim and knew she was safe. I didn't trust them not to have killed her already or to wait until I walked in and then shoot us both when I had no way of saving her. Making sure she was safe was the only thing I cared about at that point. I couldn't let myself think about Teri or the baby or about how I'd never see her again.

But then I got a phone call. It was Nina, the woman I'd been seeing when Teri and I were separated. She told me that Kim was dead already. That she'd tried to escape and had been found by the Coastguard, floating in the harbour.' He had to stop again and try to control his voice at the memories. Con waited, holding his breath, willing him to hold it together long enough to continue. Moments ticked by and the room was silent. When Jack spoke again, his throat was thick and constricted with tears yet to be shed.

'I just lost it. I collapsed right there and cried like a baby. Nothing had ever hurt so badly in my life, nothing. I couldn't think about anything except my little girl, floating around in the water like something someone had thrown away. And if it hadn't been for the anger at what Teri and I had been put through I might not have been able to do what I did.'

'What did you do?' Conrad was whispering, his voice tense.

'The term is 'berserker' I believe. It happens in battles. Guys just go crazy, their minds empty and they just run on pure rage, or pain or bloodlust or whatever. It was rage for me. They were going to _pay_ for what they'd done and what they'd taken from me.'

He spat the word 'pay' and Con jumped, but strangely, Jack seemed calmer now.

'I cant tell you exactly what happened next. I just don't remember – apparently its common when this happens. I remember getting more weapons, I remember stealing a truck and driving it into the warehouse where they were…the next clear image is on a dock and Victor Drazen was dead. His turn to float in the water.' Jack even managed a small smile at that. It was clear that he didn't regret what he had done. 'They were all dead actually. And when I realised that there was no one left to kill – well, I think I collapsed again. I'd been shot once in the side but it wasn't too serious.'

Con let out a breath and slumped back in his chair. His muscles were actually aching where he'd been so tense. His head was reeling from what he'd been told but it was clear that the story wasn't over yet. Jack hadn't said that his daughter was dead as well, just his wife. He just waited, letting him tell the rest in his own time.

'When CTU showed up and they'd patched me up a bit, I asked the Coastguard to let me claim Kim's body. The guy didn't know what I was talking about – they hadn't found a body that night. I got confirmation from the office – I cant tell you what that felt like. The relief was absolutely overwhelming. But something was wrong, wheels started turning in my head and then I knew Nina had lied to me. And there was only one reason she would do that – she had to be working with the Drazens.' He ran his fingers through his hair with a shaking hand.

'I headed back to CTU, and called a couple of people – found the proof that she was a traitor. She had killed one of our people earlier that day and I found the surveillance tapes that proved it. All the relief went away and I got angry all over again – I had trusted this woman. With everything. She had spent the day helping me find Teri and Kim, that's what I had thought anyway. I had told her everything that was going on – and she had used it to try and help kill my family.

I got there just as she was trying to escape She had realised that the Drazens hadn't killed me and knew that she was blown so she was making a run for it. I stopped her – had her pinned up against the car with a gun in her face. Everything told me I should pull the trigger, I've never hated anyone so much in my life at that moment….but the other guys stopped me. So I let her go and she was arrested.'

Jack fell silent. He was wondering for the thousandth time how things would have been different if he had just killed her then. If he'd known about Teri, he would have, no question about it. But then he would probably have gone to jail. Would it have been worth it?

Probably.

His blood had been pumping when he was reliving what memories he had of the shoot out – now he was calming down and dreading what he was about to face up to again.

'Kim was waiting inside. All of a sudden – it was over. The bad guys were all dead. Nina was apprehended. Teri and Kim were safe. Kim ran up to me and hugged me and I remember, I closed my eyes again and couldn't believe that we had made it after all – I _was_ going to get the new start and the family and everything I had thought I would never get. It was the first time all day that I actually allowed myself to believe it. I was so happy. I just wanted to take the girls home and hold them and that would be it, forever…'

He was crying again and Conrad could finally see where this was going. The woman had been caught – so she must have already killed Teri. Hearing how happy Jack had felt somehow made the impending finale so much more awful.

'I asked where Teri was. She wasn't where she was supposed to be and no one had seen her. I don't know why my blood suddenly ran cold – but I knew there was something wrong with this. Teri would never have left Kim alone if she'd known she was safe at CTU, and Kim hadn't seen her. I ran, checking all the outer offices – and then I saw that Nina had killed one of the guards. And then…' Jacks voice was cold and dead. 'She'd been tied to a chair and gagged. Nina had shot her through the heart. I picked her up and refused to look at her because I didn't want to see…but then her head fell back. She was already going cold. And I just held on to her, begging for her not to be dead. I cried. I couldn't bear the thought that after everything she'd survived that day, she would be killed in the one place she should have been safe. And I wasn't there to protect her. She died alone. I just…I couldn't believe it. I couldn't get my head around it.

I cant remember how long before someone found us. I wouldn't let her go but I had to eventually. And then I had to tell Kim. She didn't believe me. She just kept saying 'No…no' over and over and crying – in the end I grabbed her and yelled that her Mom had been murdered and she wasn't coming back. And she ran away from me, I think I scared her. And then – it's a little hazy. Things were…difficult. I remember this feeling of being completely on my own, for the first time since Teri and I had gotten together. Kim had run from me. I hated myself – I think I passed out. A friend of mine, Tony, he tried to get me to go to hospital but I shoved him away and – no, I don't remember. I've tried before. I just know I woke up in the clinic a few hours later. And I've been pretty much wishing I was dead since the moment I woke up that day.'

And that was it. Jack's words dried up and there was nothing else to tell. He wasn't crying because he was remembering the way that he had opened his eyes that day and just felt dead inside. Completely numb. There had been pain afterwards, immense pain – but every time he cried himself out he'd just been left empty. And that was the feeling that he carried with him to this day, it had never gone. The pain had deadened so that it didn't rip him apart the way it used to, not as often anyway. Now it was replaced by detachment and a cold heart that he could never seem to warm. Except when Kim forgave him and let him back into her life that is. There had been a brief time when he had thought he might be getting better. He had even had a short relationship with Kate during that time.

But then Mexico had happened, and drugs and then he'd lost Kim all over again. And now, he felt as though time hadn't moved at all. It was as though every time he opened his eyes, he was back in the clinic – waking up alone and wishing he was dead.


	24. Peace Part 24

Peace – Chapter 24

Con wanted to get up and leave the house, get a breath of fresh air while he tried to digest what he'd just heard. The room was claustrophobic and the atmosphere was intense, even though Jack was sitting quietly and not moving. He knew he couldn't leave though – if he did it might seem as though he was running away and he didn't want Jack to think he was condemning him or making light of his story. It was important that he stayed and listened and let his brother know that he was there with him. All the same, he couldn't help fidgeting and cursing the damn heat that just wouldn't let up and was making a tense situation even worse.

It didn't seem to bother Jack as he sat there though, his legs still crossed and seemingly calm. Conrad knew that his mind had to be in turmoil, it couldn't have been easy recounting that tale. There had been some tears and anger while he told it, but now that it was done he seemed to have switched off. Con had no idea what he was thinking behind his blank façade and so, he didn't know the best way to react. Did Jack want sympathy? To hear that he was blameless? Or guilty? Or…what? He didn't know, so for a while they just sat in silence, both lost in thought.

Eventually, Jack reached for another cigarette and lit it, the snap of his Zippo sounding like a gunshot in the silence of the room. The noise made Conrad jump and it finally roused him into putting tentative words to his thoughts.

'Jack…you said before that your wife died because of you. From what you've just said, that doesn't sound like its true. I mean – you couldn't know that that woman was working against you. You had no way of knowing that Teri wasn't safe at your office. And you were out saving your daughter at the time – you can't be two places at once. Even if you were with your wife, who knows? You might both be dead now. There's no way of knowing how things might have turned out. You did the best you could.'

Jack smirked at that last comment. The rest of what Con said rolled off him, it was all stuff that he'd heard before many times and it hadn't done any good those times either. But that last remark – he couldn't help it, the smirk turned into a grin and then into a laugh.

'Did the best I could! Well shit, I must really suck. Because yeah, I saved the life of a Senator. But my _wife died_ Conrad. And much as I like Palmer, I would rather…' He stopped abruptly and suddenly focused his eyes on the end of his smoke as he took a deep drag. He didn't want to finish that thought, but he didn't have to. It was fairly obvious what he had been going to say. It was never something he had considered before and he didn't want to consider it now. Unfortunately, he'd said it out loud and didn't have the luxury of pretending to himself that he'd never thought it.

'You would rather have your wife back? You would have preferred that she had survived the day instead of Palmer?' Jack closed his eyes and braced himself for the barrage of judgement that he was sure to get. He didn't even know if that _was_ what he thought but it was too late to stop it now…so he was surprised when Con just thought for a moment or two and then said 'Well, that's fair I guess.'

'What?'

Con looked surprised. 'I said I thought that was fair. It's only natural. Teri was more important to you than a guy you'd never met before, after all.'

Jack stared at him and wondered how the hell to respond to that. It was the comment of a true civilian. Part of him was suddenly furious – but part of him was relieved. Actually relieved that the half-formed thought had received some vindication, even though he wasn't sure that was how he actually felt. But he couldn't admit that, not now. So he let anger rise to the surface instead, a cover for his uncertainty.

'You don't understand Con. It's my _job_ to protect people like him. And he's a good man – I've been trained my whole life to put other people first. That was the first day it ever came into conflict with my family life, real conflict I mean. And I couldn't do it all. So I failed. That's all there is to it.'

Conrad couldn't believe that people thought that way. It didn't make any sense to him. 'But – people aren't perfect Jack. They make mistakes. And in this case, the decision was outside of your control. It wasn't part of a plan. If you'd known that it was a possibility, I'm sure you would have found a way to counter it and do your job at the same time. But you didn't know, so you couldn't. You thought you could trust this woman and that can't be held against you, surely. Everybody has to trust someone.'

'And of all the people I could choose to trust, I pick the one person that ends up killing my wife. And I slept with her first. So tell me Con, as you're such an expert in this – was I trusting her because she was the best person to trust? Or was it because I was thinking with my dick?'

There was an uneasy pause and Conrad chose to ignore Jack's inflammatory tone. 'Well…that depends I guess. Did you still want to sleep with her?'

Jack felt tired all of a sudden, and it was too hot. The drugs in his system were making him uncomfortable, they weren't helping with this kind of intense discussion. He felt sticky and hemmed-in, he needed some space. And the conversation wasn't exactly helping matters, he'd been over this topic in his head a million times and there was never an answer at the end of it.

'I don't know. I'm going outside for a bit. I'll be back – but we can talk more tomorrow if you like. Or you can wait up, whatever. It's just too hot in here.'

'I'll wait up, I'm not tired. But we don't have to talk about this if you don't want to. It must be hard for you.'

'Yeah. We'll see.' Jack uncurled his legs and headed for the door, pausing only briefly for another beer and a fresh pack of smokes. All of a sudden, he was desperate for some fresh air, he would have paid to feel a breeze against his skin. But he was out of luck, the night was as stifling as ever. The only advantage was that it was dark so there was no electric light glaring in his eyes. And it was quiet, apart from insects buzzing in the undergrowth. That was a relaxing sound in itself.

Jack paced around the clearing at the front of the house, sipping at his beer and chain smoking. He wished there were some answers to what they had been talking about, but he never came up with any. George Mason had fed him the same lines as Con had, after he'd woken up in the CTU clinic. He'd been staring at the walls for hours after finding out that Kim had gone to Carol's. There didn't seem to be any point in getting up and besides, he had to debrief. So Mason had come in and offered empty platitudes and insincere apologies that he'd barely heard. He only remembered asking one question – 'Where's Myers?' She was in custody and wasn't talking. That was all he was allowed to know. So eventually he'd given up, answered the questions and put up with Chappelle when he'd shown up, and then gone home. To what had once been a home anyway. Now that he knew Teri would never be there again, it was just a house. There was a bloodstain in the carpet that he was a little confused about but was beyond caring. He had collapsed on top of their bed, sobbing uncontrollably, hating himself and being completely unable to understand what had happened, where everything had gone wrong and fallen apart. And wishing Kim was there. But she didn't come and he woke up ten hours later, alone and with a funeral to organise. It was probably the worst day of his life.

Jack threw the stub of his cigarette to the floor and ground it out viscously with the toe of his boot. Enough of this! This was something that wasn't getting solved. There was no way around the fact that he had been in the wrong, he had failed and Teri's death would always be on his conscience. Move past it. Plenty of other shit to deal with after all. An intense anger welled up inside him as he headed back into the house. Con had asked about this. Well, then he would know about it. All of it. Let him hear what it was like when you were a fuck-up. Lets see how much he could 'help' then.

Con had been glad of some time alone. He'd opened all the windows downstairs in the hope of letting some air through the place. Now he stood next to one, staring into the complete blackness outside. He had never expected to hear anything like he'd been told, he couldn't comprehend what Jack had been through. He knew he would never be able to make the choices that his little brother had, he just wasn't cut out for that kind of life. He was soft and Jack was hard. Strangely, when he realised this he didn't feel jealous. Instead he was glad that he had a safe life and a loving family that would never be in danger from his job. He found himself feeling something like pity for Jack. If he hadn't had to go through what he did when he was a teenager, maybe he would never had chosen that kind of life.

He was startled by the sound of the front door slamming shut. He turned and took in the belligerent look on Jack's face, the body language that said he was angry about something.

'What happened?'

Jack glared at him. 'You wanted to talk. Lets talk.'

Con took a deep breath as Jack sat back down and reached for the Scotch. Instead of joining him straight away, he first walked over to the door that had just been closed and opened it again, making sure that the shield behind was closed to keep the insects out that would be attracted to the light. 'Just want to let some air through,' he said by way of explanation as he made his way back to the armchairs. He took his seat and examined Jack who hadn't acknowledged his comment. His face was whiter than it had been before and Conrad wondered if that was because of stress, or emotion or the drugs. There was a thin film of perspiration on his forehead too and his breathing was shallow. 'Are you OK?'

'Yes I'm fine. Just…' he stopped. He didn't feel well but didn't know why. He felt like he was carrying a large rock in the pit of his stomach and his chest was tight. Perhaps from all the cigarettes, but maybe not. He just knew that he couldn't face talking about Teri anymore. 'Lets talk about something else, alright?'

'Sure. Whatever you want Jack. Why don't we talk about what happened with us.' He hadn't meant to come out with that so abruptly but it sort of fell out of its own accord. Con realised that he really wanted to talk about it, there were so many questions he needed to ask. And so much he wanted to apologise for.

Jack was relieved. The situation with his family was one he thought he could talk about without much stress because it was something that hadn't been part of his life for so long. He visibly relaxed, lit another cigarette and gave a half-smile. 'OK Connie, we can talk about that. I'm not sure there's a whole lot to say but OK.'

Con laughed to himself at Jack's use of his childhood nickname. He realised that Jack had used it a couple of times that day, but not before. Maybe that was a good sign? A sign that he had opened himself up to his brother, maybe without even realising it.

'I'd like to know what happened to you after you le… after you were forced to leave. Mom didn't know what had happened, you know she was very sick by then. And Dad and I never told her in case it upset her too much. And…' God, this was going to be hard to admit. 'Well, I've got to be honest Jack. I was glad you were gone, for a long while afterwards. It was only after about three years that I started to wonder. I asked Dad about you but he would never tell me anything. I don't know if he even knew where you were by then. So…yeah, I'm curious. And, I gotta say again – I'm _so_ sorry…' He stopped, because Jack's face changed whenever he apologised. A mixture of disbelief and impatience seemed to come over his features. Conrad didn't want to upset him again, he wasn't sure if all these apologies were helping or making things worse.

Jack was OK though, he was just tired of hearing 'I'm sorry' over and over. Nothing Con had said surprised him, he had always figured that Sam would be as good as his word and never mention his name again. He was surprised though, to notice a small pang of regret, or sorrow, pass through him as he heard that his mother was never told about his whereabouts. She had died not knowing where her youngest son was and that was a sad thought. Or perhaps it was relief he was feeling. Sam wouldn't have said anything good about him after all, and maybe it was better that she passed away not knowing, than going thinking bad thoughts about him. At least he now knew that his mother hadn't hated him the way his father and brother had.

'Please stop apologising Con. It was twenty-five years ago and I'm pretty much OK with it, really. So – after I was kicked out. That's what you want to know about? You know I was sent to military school, right?'

'Yeah, I know that much. But I mean – you couldn't have gone straight from here to a military school. For one thing, it was vacation time. What did you do first while the arrangements were being made? And you left here on foot, with just a bag. Where did you go? And also – well, I'd like to know what made you go into the kind of work you've told me about. It's so strange to me, and I'm curious.'

Jack smiled. 'Well, the last question is easy anyway. I joined the Army and had a natural affinity for that kind of work. Simple as that. I had talent, it was recognised and developed.' Of course, it wasn't as simple as that but that answer would probably do for now.

Conrad mulled it over. It couldn't have been that easy, surely? There had to be more to it – but it could wait. He was more curious about the other questions he'd asked. 'OK, well, I guess I'll have to take your word for it. So…' he left the question open and waited for Jack to pick up on it, which he did of course.

Jack stubbed his cigarette out on the sole of his boot, watching the sparks and heated ash that fell to the floor and smoked there for a few seconds before running out of fuel and dying on the wooden floor. It was hard to know where to start, so in the end he took himself back to the moment of the final argument.

'You were there at the lake, so you know that much. You heard Dad say that he never wanted to see me again and that I was no son of his. You were smiling too as I recall.' Con shifted uncomfortably at the memory but there was no rancour in Jack's voice, he was simply recounting what had happened. 'I ran back to our room. I wanted to be gone before you all came back. I was so angry and…well, it hurt, what you'd done. I remember packing up some clothes and my hands were shaking because I was so mad. It was the injustice of it all that bothered me so much. I didn't think I'd done anything wrong and I was the one being thrown out. So I just packed up and ran out. Grabbed some sodas and food from the kitchen on my way through and that was it.'

Con was amazed that he could be so calm about it. 'Where did you go?'

'Where do you think I went? There was only one place open to me. At least, I thought it was open to me – I didn't know that you'd closed that off too.'

Realisation dawned on Conrad and he felt sick. 'You tried to go to Becky's…'

Jack was nodding. 'Yeah. I didn't know that you – or maybe Dad – had talked to Neo already.'

Con closed his eyes. 'It was me. I did it.' His voice wasn't more than a whisper. When he opened his eyes, Jacks face was blank. He was thinking back to when it had happened. Becky had been his vacation girlfriend since he was thirteen. She lived in Bakersfield with her family but she was a Native American and spent a lot of time on the reservation that was only a few miles from where they sat at that very moment. She was the same age as Jack and her family and his had known each other forever. She was even best friends with Savannah and after she died, that was about the time that Jack had stopped thinking of her as another nuisance girl and had actually noticed her as a human being. They had become close friends and spent a lot of time talking together when Jack was at the cabin. They'd written to each other all year round and looked forward to seeing each other in the summer months. Jack had been shy and withdrawn and eventually Becky had taken matters into her own hands and kissed him one day. Since then they had been pretty much inseparable, spending long days at the lake and on the reservation. Her father, Neo, who had lost his wife years ago and had no sons, had welcomed Jack.

He had loved Becky. When Sam kicked him out it was the logical place for him to go. Jack was sure that Neo would take him in for a while he worked out what he was going to do next. Unfortunately he'd been met at the door by the large Indian – and he was carrying a baseball bat.

The older Jack winced at the memory, totally unaware of Conrad, who was sitting in anguish in the other chair.

'What did he do to you?' Con wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to the question but he had to ask anyway.

Jack dragged his thoughts away, surprised that he remembered the pain so vividly. When he spoke, it was with derision. 'What the fuck do you think he did to me? He beat the shit out of me Con. With a baseball bat. I couldn't see out of my left eye for over a week.' He stood suddenly and Conrad jumped. But Jack just walked over, turned around and pulled his T-shirt up, showing off a thin white scar that ran from his side to the middle of his back. 'He did that too, with a knife. It would have been deeper but I twisted away at the last second, so it wasn't as bad as it might have been. Bled like a sonofabitch though.' He dropped his shirt and walked back to his chair, not looking at his brother's white face. He lit another smoke as he sat down and curled his legs back underneath him. Con was silent. He felt sick, and guilty, and sorry and he knew there was little he could say to make up for this. In fact, he felt exactly the way he felt the days after Savannah's death. Back then, he had hoped to never feel that way again – and he had succeeded up until now.

'Do you know the real kicker Conrad? I ran away and patched myself up and all I could think was – if I had done the things you told everyone I did, I would deserve that beating. Deserve to be kicked out of home too. But I didn't do them. You did. And you were there with Mom and Dad and had a nice easy time of it and I was getting the shit kicked out of me and….' He broke off. He had been wrong – this wasn't easy to talk about. He thought that time had healed him, but it had obviously only healed so much. This hurt.

'Anyway, I tried to get back to LA. I didn't have enough money to get the bus down so I tried to hitchhike. No one would pick me up though, not the way I looked. I tried to walk it but I only got so far.' He stopped for a drink and for the first time, noticed his brother's reactions. He was white and there were tears in his eyes. Jack almost felt sorry for him, but not quite. Remembering how he had felt back then, how completely alone and in pain he had been – well, that drowned out any sympathy he might be inclined to feel now. In fact, he kind of felt like taking a baseball bat and showing Con what it felt like. But he wouldn't. This had happened twenty-five years ago, it needed to be left in the past. He thought it had been.

Conrad roused himself and desperately searched for words that could fix this somehow. He wanted so much to make it better, to show how guilty he felt, to express how sorry he was. But Jack started talking again and stopped him before he could get any words out.

'I was found by the police. I had fallen at the side of the road. I don't remember too much, but I was told in the hospital that it had been dehydration rather than as a result of the injuries. They contacted Sam who told them that I was a problem child and he couldn't deal with me anymore…' Jack let out a derisive snort. 'Apparently he feared for the safety of the rest of you if I was allowed back home. Even when he heard that I was in hospital he just said that I had had probably deserved what I got. He let the authorities know that I'd be going to military school, but I was to be looked after by the State until the new semester started. The cops saw the mess I was in and believed every word. Long story short, I was put into care for the last month of the summer. Then sent to the academy, where I was a boarder. And let me tell you – military school isn't a picnic if they're informed of your so-called 'behavioural problems' beforehand. Sam made sure that the head-teacher knew I was 'trouble' - as he put it – so, yeah, that wasn't so much fun.'

He stopped. He had an overwhelming desire to spell out to Conrad every incident where a teacher had beaten the crap out of him, every time he'd been blamed for other people's misdemeanours, every time he'd been bullied or a drill sergeant had thrown his kit in the mud and then claimed he'd done it himself, so he'd get punished. But he wouldn't do that. He really wanted to, Con looked upset about what he was saying and he wanted to make it worse and really make him suffer. But no. That would be churlish. Jack remembered how it had all turned out and he had a lot to be thankful for really – he would never had met Teri if he hadn't gone there. The impulse to tell the whole truth suddenly died as he thought about what he would have missed out on if he had never gone to that place. All the bad stuff was worth it in the end. He had Kim because of it. And even though part of him thought that Teri would have been better off if she had never met him, they would never have had their beautiful daughter either. Kim was worth any amount of shit. He would go through double the pain of all these years, just to have her. So he kept his mouth shut and held his temper. They'd been here for hours. He was starting to want another fix.

'When I was told you were going to military school, I thought you'd be OK. I mean, I guess I didn't really care if you were OK or not, if I'm honest. But I thought Dad had done the decent thing, at least you weren't left to live on the streets. I guess…well, I guess I told myself all that so that I didn't feel guilty. I figured you'd leave school, get a scholarship to college and then go to work. I thought you'd be alright.'

Jack considered telling him about the times he was so low that he'd thought about ending it all. There hadn't been too many of them, but they _had_ happened and he didn't feel bad about them either. It was normally after someone had beaten him up or trashed the uniform he'd spent hours ironing to perfection, always on a Friday so his weekend privileges were taken away. Then, while the other boys were enjoying free time and adventure sports, he'd be cleaning or doing extra drill or studying. At least that studying instilled in him a love for books that had never gone away. He thought about telling Con that for the first year at that school, he'd considered running away, possibly to Europe, and never setting foot in America again, such was the hatred and anger he felt. It had only been the last year there that everything had changed.

He'd had a teacher that wasn't like the others. Colonel James had recognised his potential and taken him under his wing, discreetly, so he wasn't bullied for it. He had acted the same towards Jack as he did with all of the boys but without making a fuss, he'd arranged to supervise all of Jack's punishments. There were many – all of the staff had been informed that Jack was a bad case that needed severe discipline, and they made sure he got it – but the Colonel could see beyond that. One day, he had come across Jack as he was walking around the sports fields on his own. He could see that the boy was trying to hold himself together. After some coaxing, he got out of him that it was his mother's birthday and he had tried to call home when he thought his dad wouldn't be there. But his father had picked up the phone and hung up as soon as soon as Jack spoke. Since then, he had taken an interest in Jack and recognised what he could be if he was given a fair chance. So he provided that chance and Jack had been smart enough to take it. The hours he spent in 'detention' actually served to instil a love of the military in him, he saw what was available to him beyond the confines of the school. He and the Colonel became very close, close enough that the Colonel took responsibility for him during vacation time.

Jack smiled at the memory of walking into the man's house and being introduced to his family. His wife, Ann, was wonderful and welcoming and he knew that their youngest daughter, Carol, developed an instant crush on him. Her father didn't need to worry about that though – because as soon as Jack laid eyes on their older daughter, the world stopped, the angels sang and all the pain went away. Teresa was a vision, a godsend, and nothing would ever be bad again. His only worry that she would pity him for his situation or look down on him – but she had been raised better than that. He could still remember the amazement he felt during Spring break, when he'd accepted another invitation to stay with the James' and Teri told him that she hadn't been able to stop thinking about him either.

His smile faded as he thought about what the Colonel would have said if he was alive when Teri had died. In a way, he was thankful that the old man had gone before it happened. It had been devastating to both of them when he had passed away but Jack shuddered to think of how the man might have ended up regretting the day he met Jack Bauer and decided that this was a young man worth saving.

He didn't want to share this with Conrad. He didn't need to know. And because Jack had got something so beautiful out of his time at school, he didn't want to cheapen it by outlining all the crap he had to go through there. Better that his brother didn't know. So he just gave a small smile and responded to Con's comment with,

'Well, it was bearable. I can't say I enjoyed all of it but I got into UCLA on a ROTC scholarship. College was a lot of fun, especially after Teri started there. She was a year younger than me but we got married just before I started my junior year. We had Kim a year later – all with her parents blessing. That was enough for me. We juggled a few things, worked hard and both managed to graduate. Her last year was the most difficult – I was working as she studied for finals and we both had a tough time trying to make enough time with Kim and keep a roof over our heads. But it was fun too – we were together and that's what was most important. Then we moved up to San Francisco so I could get my Masters and of course, I was in the military too. After I graduated, it was OK. We moved around a lot but we were a family. There were some tough times with the kind of work I was doing but we managed. So whether you told yourself I would be OK to ease your conscience or not – you were right. I was OK.'

Con looked relieved and Jack fought down the urge to laugh. Was he really so simple that he believed everything was that easy? More likely he was just doing the same thing as he'd just admitting to doing before – taking everything at face value so that he didn't have to feel so bad about it.

'I'm glad to hear it. I really am Jack. It took a long time for me to realise what a prick I'd been to you but by then, years had gone by and I had no idea where you were. I told myself you would have been OK and just left it at that. I guess I should have tried to find you or something.'

'No, I'm glad you didn't. It was raw for me, for a long time. It was years before I could even tell Teri the whole story. If you'd called or shown up, I would have had to go through it all again and my mind was on other things by then.'

'Other things? Like what?' Conrad saw the opportunity to move the conversation in another direction and grabbed it eagerly. They were still dancing around the actual issue at hand – namely, the incident that had sparked everything off. But he felt bad enough just skirting it at the moment, he didn't want to get into the details of it just yet. This was so much harder than he'd thought it would be – and Jack was _so_ hard to read. Con didn't know if he would go off at the deep end when, or if, they got into it - at times during this conversation it had seemed like there was anger simmering just below the surface and he didn't want to be on the receiving end of those fists again. Twice in the last few days was enough.

Jack laughed inwardly at Conrad's desire to change the subject, but he was happy enough to oblige. The buzzing that was starting to hum through his system was letting him know that he was going to need to fix pretty soon. Time to wrap this up for the time being – there would be more conversations like this one. And they'd be harder too. 'Like work. I was moving pretty fast in the Army, due to some talent I seemed to have for wet work…'

'Wet work?' Con interrupted. He'd never heard the term before.

'Operations where you need to get your hands dirty. Where people go in to take care of business on the ground, rather than relying on a missile that's shot from a hundred miles away. You understand what I'm saying?'

Conrad got the gist of it and let it go. He didn't want to hear the details.

'Anyway, I moved into Special Forces. It was pretty intense stuff but I was good at it. I made Captain and that's when I began to spend a lot of time away from home. I couldn't tell Teri where I was going or what I was doing either, so, yeah, I had things on my mind. All the stuff with you and Sam faded for me. There were more pressing issues. That's what I meant when I said I hadn't thought about it all for years – I meant it. The kind of stuff I was doing demanded all my attention or people would die.'

Jack was talking faster now as his hunger for drugs increased. He was fidgeting in his seat and Con eventually noticed. The conversation was moving into new territory now anyway and he had enough to be thinking about for the time being. 'Why don't we call it a night Jack? It's 3am. You look…tired.' Jack laughed softly and Con gave a rueful smile. They both knew what he had meant. 'I know I'm beat. Is that OK with you? We can talk again in the morning.'

'Sure. We'll carry on whenever.' They both stood. Con stretched and Jack lit another smoke. And then – it was strange. The atmosphere in the room changed somehow and there was a slightly awkward pause. It was the first time they'd had a proper conversation in years and there was no animosity. No going to bed angry or mixed up or confused. They'd sat and talked like two adults. Con, for his part, felt he understood his brother a little better. There were still a million unasked questions between them, but no urgency to know the answers. They both realised that they had time to ask and answer and for perhaps the first time since they'd met again, they both silently acknowledged that maybe this wasn't just a strange interlude that they'd walk away from unaffected, maybe they'd be in each other's lives for some time to come. Maybe forever. For the first time since Con had found Jack in this house, they felt like brothers.

'See you in the morning Jack.'

'Night Connie.'

Jack stood without moving as Con walked up the stairs. This was turning into something he hadn't bargained on and it was a strange feeling. Talking about the past was dredging up many old and painful memories – but some happy ones too. And strangely, it felt good. He felt better, and smiled a little. As he moved to follow Con up the stairs though, the smile faded. His brother was going for a restful sleep, to recharge for the next day. What was _he_ doing? The needle sat waiting in the darkness, beckoning to him. Jack told himself that it was just a different type of recharge. But with characteristic honesty, he knew that he was lying to himself and that no matter what Con had done in the past, he was facing it now as a man and trying to make it right. Whereas he, Jack, was still running away from it all. And that made him the weak one.

By the time he reached his room and started the familiar routine that would ease his troubled mind, the same old feeling was back. Self-loathing and shame coursed through him and he depressed the plunger faster than normal, desperate once again to find something that would take it all away.


	25. Peace Part 25

Peace – Chapter 25

Jack sat and watched the sun rise. An empty and discarded bottle of whiskey lay at his feet and there was a small mountain of cigarette butts lying next to it. He was high, and drunk and his throat was killing him from all the smokes but he ignored it.

Was this what it was like to be invisible? To be so completely alone that not a soul on earth cared if you lived or died? That was what it felt like but he supposed it wasn't true – logic told him that Kim would be upset if he was gone. Maybe even Con, since they had made some definite progress. All the same – even if it was true that he _was_ cared for, he didn't _feel_ it. Conrad was displaying curiosity about him, it was true, and making an effort to get to know him. But the only real emotion he displayed was guilt, and that was about his own previous actions. It wasn't about what Jack was going through. And Kim – well, Kim had pretty much abandoned him. She had every right to, and he deserved it for sure…but at this moment, logic didn't help him to rationalise her decision. He just wanted someone to ask him if he was all right and really care about his answer.

He hated feeling sorry for himself, and tried all his usual ways of stopping it. He told himself that he deserved this, he told himself that it would be over someday and he'd look back and wonder what all the fuss was about. He tried to tell himself that he would find someone else in the future, when he was ready for it, and that unnamed, faceless person would care about him…he threw another cigarette butt onto the pile. This was bullshit. He did deserve this, so shut up and get on with it. It would be over someday? Everything would be over someday, that didn't mean it had to be fun in the meantime. Life might stay shit forever. And someone else? He didn't fucking _want_ someone else. He wanted Teri. He wanted to turn the clock back and do everything differently. He wanted to be twenty again and decide to become a teacher or a doctor or a garbage man or a sewer worker or…._anything _ that wasn't what he'd turned out to be….

Fuck this. Fuck everything. This was shit.

Why wasn't it getting better? It was crap for those few days that he'd been clean. He thought that getting back on the junk would be a relief, make it all more bearable. It wasn't turning out that way. Maybe it was all the talking he was doing. A few hours ago he'd had the briefest feeling of respite, the smallest glimpse that the load was getting lighter. And then he'd shot up again and while the hit felt as good as ever when it first went in, now he just felt like death.

He could blame the Scotch. But why make it easy? He felt this way because he was fucked up, and he would always be fucked up and that was all there was to it. Conrad should leave and let him finish what he had been counting on doing all along. The gun was still there, still loaded. So he'd be weak and pathetic by ending it all. So he'd make a mockery of the sacrifices made by people like Ryan. That would surely be a fitting end really, for someone who'd messed up like he had.

He started to laugh and couldn't stop. Suddenly it was funny and ridiculous and crazy all at once. This was madness! He felt like he was going nuts, he couldn't control what he was thinking. It was a non-stop stream of mental diarrhoea that befouled everything around him. His limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, his head felt detached from his body and his eyes seemed to be viewing the world through a veil of…something. Fuzz. Whatever. Who cared? This was shit.

Oh look, it was Conrad. Come for another round of 'Let's make it all better.' Jack picked up the empty bottle of Scotch and threw it in his general direction. Playfully, sure, but also not caring whether he hit him or not.

'Top of the morning Connie. Beautiful day huh? Let's get fucking trashed and see what wrongs we can right today. Let's fix the world while we're at it. Talking is the key to everything you know!' Jack laughed maniacally, while a sober part of his mind wondered what the hell he was talking about.

Conrad stood on the porch and looked over to where Jack was sprawled by his car. He had felt good this morning when he woke up, he thought the conversation the night before might have helped some. It had raised other issues that would have to be thought about, but it was a good start. At least they were talking.

But as soon as he saw Jack his optimism died and his heart sank into his boots. He had obviously been up all night again - he looked in a hell of a state and was clearly wasted. His face was pasty-white, his cheeks were hollow and there were huge dark circles under his eyes. And he noticed that the man was even skinnier than he had been a week ago, something Con wouldn't have thought possible at the time. He looked like he'd break if you touched him. _Shit, he's going to kill himself like this…_ It was suddenly as clear as day to Conrad that this couldn't go on much longer. Jack wouldn't be able to take much more, his body would give up on him soon. Up until this point he had only thought of trying to help by offering an ear and a promise that the ghosts of the past would be laid to rest. Now, suddenly faced with the brutal certainty that Jack needed more than that, he began to try and think of some actual practical help he could offer. A few ideas sprang instantly to mind but getting Jack to agree might be a different matter. Well, he could only try. But he had to find out what was going on in his head first – why had he got into this state again?

He ran his hands through his hair, took a deep breath and walked over. 'What happened Jack?'

Jack pulled a face. 'What do mean, 'what happened'? Nothing happened. What are you talking about?'

'Well, you seemed OK yesterday. Better anyway. Now you look like crap. You drink that whole bottle in the last few hours?' Dumb question…

'Yeah I did. Which reminds me – we're running out. You should go down into town and stock up…' Jack raised a cigarette to lips that were curled in a smirk. He didn't know what he was saying, or why, but being rude was better than listening to his own thoughts right now.

'Well maybe.' He didn't plan on going for more liquor but better to humour him for now. 'So – why? Why didn't you just go to sleep last night Jack? I don't understand – why are you doing this to yourself?'

Jack noted the slightly pleading tone to Con's voice and wanted to laugh in his face. _Because this is what junkies do to keep themselves occupied until the next hit Connie. Or at least – it's what_ this _junkie does…_

'Well, I'll tell you brother. After our little heart-to-heart yesterday I realised what a complete waster I am – again – and decided to feel sorry for myself. Anyone who knows anything knows that the best way to do that is to get really, really drunk. So I did. And then I tried to stop feeling sorry for myself, and I can't. So I guess I might as well just make the most of it. Go and grab me a beer would you? I can't be bothered to move.'

Conrad just stared at him. A bell rang in his head. He ignored the rudeness because he'd had a flash of insight as Jack had spoken, he remembered something someone had said to him once after Savannah had died. 'Why are you feeling sorry for yourself? I mean – no, let me rephrase that. Why do you _think _you're feeling sorry for yourself?'

Jack squinted up at him from the floor. What the fuck was he on about? 'Huh? Were you not listening yesterday?'

Con sighed and sat down next to him, feeling the dampness of the grass instantly seep through his jeans. 'What I'm saying is – you might not be wallowing in self-pity. What you're feeling might be a valid emotion that you should let yourself feel without beating yourself up over. You might be being too hard on yourself.' He paused while Jack tried to register that thought, and then continued to try and make his point. 'Look, what I've got from you over the last few days is that you set a high bar to live up to and you're tough on yourself if you don't reach it. Especially with what happened to Teri. I'm an outsider looking in, and I'm telling you that that wasn't your fault. If you've told me the whole thing, it honestly looks like there was nothing you could have done. But you still kick your own ass over it, years later. So all I'm saying is, whatever you're feeling now might not be self-pity. It might be something you need to deal with.'

There was complete silence and Jack's facetious façade dropped in an instant. He hadn't thought of it like that before. Of course, it was bullshit. But…interesting bullshit. He took a contemplative drag on his smoke as his mind tried to bend itself around the thought. Con sat and waited. He really thought he might be right about this, even though he didn't know what Jack had been thinking about all night. But it was obvious that Jack wasn't the type to feel sorry for himself, not often anyway, so this kind of made sense.

Jack tried to think of a way to explain why he felt the way he did right now. 'Connie, I don't believe in self-pity. I don't believe in 'try' either. You either 'do' or you 'don't' – there is no such thing as 'I tried my best.' That's just an excuse and a lame one at that. So when I sit here and feel sorry for myself – I don't deserve to. I failed. I have no right to whine about being alone, because it's my fault that I am. People saying to me 'You did everything you could to save Teri' - that means nothing to me. People have told me 'At least you saved Kim.' It's obviously great that Kim is safe but they don't seem to understand that it's not a consolation. You understand what I'm saying?'

Con was confused. 'So you would rather have neither of them? Both or neither?' That couldn't have been what he meant.

'No, of course not. Of _course_ not. What I'm saying is, when people say that to me, in my head it sounds like 'You lost your wife? Drag. But hey, at least your daughter made it' as though still having Kim should make up for having lost Teri. Like I shouldn't feel sad that Teri is gone because I have still have my daughter. And of course, Kim is everything to me. _Everything_. But I still miss my wife, and Kim still misses her mother – and she's dead because of my actions and my fucking job and because I chose to live a certain way and in the end, because I failed to _do my job_ and save her life. I've given everything for my work over the years and it was something I worked hard to be good at – but I wasn't good enough that day. And things have happened since, I've had to do some things that were necessary at the time but shit, I wouldn't wish them on anyone. And I have to live with myself now and I cant even fucking end it – one of those things I had to do has come back to bite me in the ass again. Otherwise I would have pulled the trigger yesterday morning…'

He trailed off. It felt weird being this honest. But this was a subject he'd spent hours, days, running over in his head and hell, it felt good to be able to say it loud for once.

'You want to tell me what it was? The thing that you did that stopped you killing yourself?'

'Maybe. I don't know.' Jack's head was swimming, this was a deep subject to be discussing when you were trashed.

'OK. Maybe later. You see my point though Jack? I don't think you're feeling sorry for yourself at all. I think you've been put through the wringer a thousand times and you're feeling the effects of that. There's no shame in admitting that you're at the end of your rope.'

End of his rope? Jack's mind recoiled at the suggestion, it was strange hearing it out loud like that. How could he be at the end of his rope? He was the person that was called on to do the impossible, he was paid to be limitless. Saying that he was at the end of his rope was saying that he was now useless.

Jack's thoughts wandered and took him back to a question he'd thought about a lot, something that he had never been able to get his head around. When he killed someone to achieve a greater aim – why did it rest on his conscience so much? Why couldn't he just say to himself 'I did it to save thousands of others.' Why didn't that excuse the action in his own head? He couldn't understand why it bothered him so much. It was better that one person died than a million…but why did the face of that one person haunt him so much?

Maybe too many people were haunting him and that was what being at the end of ones rope meant. After all, he had tried to kill himself. Almost anyway. But he hadn't done it, so maybe he could pull himself back up the fucking rope and that would mean he would be useful again.

Dammit, why had he drunk so much? And why couldn't he just let this stuff go? Why couldn't he just pull the trigger on a person when he had to and then forget about it and live a normal life? It was simpler in the Army. You were at war, some dude tried to kill you so you killed him first. It was a level playing field. But the stuff he did now – nobody knew the rules. And if anyone had known them, the bad guys wouldn't have played fair. So he was trained not to play fair either and in the end, it was just a bunch of guys running around in the darkness and no one knew which end was up. If he hadn't been carrying a badge that said he was authorised to do whatever it took, his ass would be in jail by now, waiting for the electric chair. But he had the authority so he'd done things that in another world would make him a terrorist and a criminal, and he'd got away with it.

And sometimes – sometimes the badge hadn't covered everything. Sometimes it had been a deep voice on the other end of a telephone saying 'You have to this Jack. I'm sorry. There's no one else.' So he'd done it. And no one else could carry the guilt for him either. There were times when he wished he _was_ in jail. Then he could tell himself that he was being punished, paying his dues and then maybe he'd be able to let it go. But he was free and could live a normal life – except he couldn't. He was a trained killer, an assassin, a murderer – grocery shopping at the store on a Saturday, going to Tower for a CD, catching a movie, eating out with his daughter or a girlfriend…

It wasn't right. He had no right to escape judgement like this. So, in the absence of an authority to punish him, he was doing it to himself.

The revelation hit him like the zap of a taser and his mouth dropped open. Was that was he was doing? Was it that obvious and he'd never seen it….?

'Jack? Jack!' A hand was being waved in front of his face. 'Where'd you go? Are you OK?'

'Huh? Oh – yeah. Yeah I'm alright. I just…' _I don't know what I am. I'm sobering up I know that much. Is that what it all comes down to? I'm punishing myself because no one else is? It can't be that easy…_

'Just what?' Con was getting weirded out, more than usual.

Jack lit another smoke as a reflex, he was barely aware that he was doing it. A question formed in his head but he didn't know if he should ask it. It might lead to all kinds of other questions that he didn't want to have to answer.

Fuck it.

'Let me ask you something Conrad. I want you to give me an honest answer. Don't tell me what you think I want to hear and forget what you know about my job. Can you do that?'

'Yeah, I can do that.'

'If you had to shoot one good man in the head to save your own life, would you do it?'

Wow, that was a question. 'No I don't think so. I hope not anyway.'

'What if he was a bad guy that wanted to kill other people?'

'Then – yeah. Probably.'

'Why?'

'Because I'm not a bad guy. I don't want to kill a lot of people. If I shoot him, I'd stop all those other people dying. If I don't, all those people die as well as me and the bad guy wins.'

'But doesn't shooting him make _you_ a bad guy as well?'

Hmmm. 'That depends.'

'On what?'

'Well, if I just took matters into my own hands and decided to shoot a guy I thought was bad – I would just be a vigilante. That would be wrong, then I'd be a bad guy. Probably crazy as well. But if I was a cop or something – then no, it would be OK I guess.'

'But you'd still have killed someone. Why does having a badge and a uniform make it OK?'

Con sighed. He didn't know where this was going and it was confusing him. 'I don't know Jack, it just does. Like – a cop who pulls me over for speeding. He's just another guy, a human being like me. But he's had training, and been granted the authority to pull me over if I do the wrong thing. So he does and I take it. Isn't this obvious? I don't understand what you're getting at.'

Jack decided to go for it and ask the question he actually wanted to ask. 'OK, try this. What if you still had to shoot a guy. But it wasn't to save your own life, it was to save a whole bunch of people you've never met. And it's a good guy, someone who's never broken a law. You're allowed to do it, you wont get in trouble for it. Would you?'

Con noticed a change in Jack's voice, just slightly. There was an eagerness to the 'Would you?' that was almost a challenge, as though he was daring him in some way. But he didn't know what Jack wanted to hear, so he was forced to try and put himself in the situation Jack had described. It was beyond his comprehension but he tried.

'Would I shoot a good guy to save a bunch of random people I didn't know?' There was a long pause and Jack stared at him intently the whole time. 'Honestly Jack, I don't know. I don't know if I could. I can see why it would have to be done – I guess I would hope that someone else would do it.'

Jack dropped his gaze and studied the grass. Con had answered the way he thought he would. 'Get someone else to do it.' It was something he'd asked himself for almost a year now. When Saunders phoned in the demand to the President, why did Palmer ask _him_ to kill Chappelle? Why not have a soldier who had never met him to come to the train yard and pull the trigger? Did he think that Ryan would appreciate getting killed by someone he knew, would that somehow make it easier on the man?

Probably. Better the devil you know and all that. But it sure as hell wasn't easier on Jack, and – well yeah, Palmer had apologised for asking. But of all the things he'd had to do, that was probably the worst. He would always be glad that Stephen had broken before Jane was pushed through the doors of the Chandler Plaza, otherwise that might have been the worst. Cutting off Chase's hand was bad, but there really was no option and the kid would have died if he hadn't. But Ryan – there was nothing he could tell himself to make it better. It was cold-blooded murder and no amount of permission from the President or allowance from Ryan himself could make that right. Why hadn't he just asked for someone else to do it? Why had he agreed to be the one to pull the trigger?

Because then, someone else would be feeling the way he was right now. And it was better that he felt bad than someone else. Better that he shoulder the burden…

Oh man. It was suddenly so clear. Punishment again. He had created the Saunders mess by leaving him in Kosovo. And the man had returned for payback. So…he, Jack, was responsible. Therefore he would fix it. He'd do the hard thing. And the thing with Ryan - punishment? Jack had fucked up and so he wouldn't let anyone else suffer for his previous mistakes.

Was he really that much of a doormat? Did he really believe that he somehow deserved to carry all this weight on his shoulders, and better him than someone else? Or maybe he was arrogant. Maybe he just thought that he was the only one who could carry it all, that he would be able to take whatever life threw at him and he would remain unaffected. Only he wasn't. He was addicted to heroin.

Jack realised he needed something. Something he'd never been able to admit before. He knew what it was but he just couldn't think it, not even silently in his head. He'd never be able to say it out loud.

But if he didn't swallow his pride and _ask _for help, how would he ever get it?

He stood up suddenly, unable to bear being this close to letting his guard down completely. Because that's what he'd be doing. All the stuff he'd talked about, he could detach himself from it in a way. Sometimes more successfully than others but still, he could talk dispassionately and simply recount an event without reliving it completely. Apart from the thing with Teri, that was just too painful. It didn't occur to him that his behaviour right now might be a reaction to going through it all again the day before. He just knew that he was hurting and was tying to make it stop.

But admitting that he wasn't strong enough to do all this on his own – that was where the real failure lay, in his mind at least. That would be him completely exposed, leaving himself open to everything. That was all it would take to pull him apart. He had always been strong, ever since he was alone in the world at fifteen years old. He had always survived and got things done and been the person that others called on when they needed help. But he had never felt like he could ask for help in return, not once. It wasn't who he was. And he couldn't do it now. It would be the ultimate admittance of defeat.

Con stood as he did and was ready to catch him if he fell. It was possible, he was swaying all over the place but he reached for the hood of his SUV instead and leant against that. 'You OK Jack?'

'Stop asking me that. I'm fine.' He needed some space. He started to stumble back towards the house. 'I'm gonna crash for a bit. I need to sleep.'

Con watched him go, his heart hammering. Something was going on in Jack's head but he didn't know what, or how to get it out of him. What was the deal with all those 'hypothetical' questions? There was obviously something there but how could he get him to tell? Something occurred to him, something he hadn't asked recently and he called out to the retreating back.

'Jack? Why doesn't Kim know where you are? You talk like you don't see her anymore.'

Jack stopped. Yes, he could answer that now. He'd told the truth about Teri after all and it wasn't like his addiction was a secret. He turned and Conrad could see the anguish on his face as he walked slowly back towards him. 'She doesn't want to see me. She won't let me near her until I get clean. That's why I came here, to try and fix myself up. But…' He couldn't admit it, he couldn't admit his failure.

Con's heart wrenched in his chest. Jack had spoken so quietly, yet so clearly. The pain was so obvious. And it was obvious that he thought he had failed again, it was written all over him in the way his shoulders slumped and his body sagged and his eyes dropped to the floor. He reached out and grasped his brother's shoulder.

'Call her.'

Jack raised his eyes to Conrad's. He had spoken the truth, it had just kind of come out, straight from his heart. And Con looked so sad for him, it touched him. Maybe he did truly care after all.

'I can't.' It was a whisper, something that he couldn't say too loudly because it might just break him if he did. 'I have to respect her wishes. I've hurt her enough. I told myself I would do this for her – or die. But I haven't done it and I couldn't even kill myself. Now I don't know what to do.'

And it was true. He was floating without direction, nothing to hold onto that could give him his bearings and point him the right way. And he just couldn't shout for help, no matter how hard he tried.

Con reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. 'What's her number?'

Jack stared. His voice was firm and steady, he really meant to do it. He couldn't let him. 'No. No I can't. Don't…'

'Do you think _this_ is what she wanted for you Jack? When she told you to get clean, did she really expect you to do it yourself and do it or die? I don't know the girl but I doubt very much that this is what she had in mind for you. After everything you did for her – and you're her dad for Cris' sakes. C'mon Jack, be sensible. Get a grip. Don't deny yourself this – you'll feel better if you talk to her and let her know what's going on. And anyway, you should be trying to get clean for yourself too. Not just for her.'

He willed Jack to listen to him. He could see the internal struggle going on behind those blue eyes, and he wanted so badly for Jack to give in to the part of him that wanted to hear her voice again. He held his breath as there was a brief flicker of something like hope…but then it died, and the eyes clouded again.

'I cant. I just cant. Con, please don't make me. Apart from anything else…I don't want her to hear about this. I don't want her to know anything that's happened here – she already thinks I'm weak, I know she does. I don't want her to know that I got this low…I'd never be able to look her in the eye again. Please don't…' He hated that he almost sounded like he was begging, but – well, wasn't he? And it didn't matter. Anything to keep Kim from detecting any part of this. 'And…doing this for her is the only way I got this far. Don't you understand? Without that, I wouldn't have even _tried_ to get clean.'

Conrad sighed softly and put the phone away. He knew he couldn't force him, it would destroy the small amount of trust they'd built up. 'Its there if you change your mind.'

Jack couldn't describe the relief that ran through him. He felt so tired and beat up, but not quite as bad as he did before for some reason.

'Will you let me do something for you though Jack?'

'What?'

'I want to call Sheila and have her look up some rehab centres or hospitals or something. I could get her to book you an appointment to see someone too.' He stopped and held his breath. Since he had come outside this morning and realised that Jack couldn't go on much longer like this, he had been running through options in his head. And it was so easy really – get Jack into rehab, a good place where they would really help him out and get him straight. The hard part would be convincing Jack to go – and to let him pay – but suddenly Con was resolved. This was a fight he _would_ win.

'Let me do this Jack. Please. We can get you in somewhere and you'll get clean and then you can go and see Kim again. Get on with your life. You need this. You can't keep doing what you're doing…'

Jack knew what he was saying. Part of him had known all along that his self-destructive behaviour might end up killing him anyway, and it would take the decision to commit suicide away from him at least. He just hadn't wanted to admit it. And this plan that Con was proposing…it had merit. But…fuck, he couldn't think straight. It was nice of him to offer. There was the problem of classified material that he wouldn't be able to talk about but…he scrubbed at his eyes that were threatening to close as he stood there.

'I don't know Connie. I need to sleep. Thanks though. Maybe. Can we talk about it later?'

Con saw that he was about done and decided not to press the issue for now. 'Sure Jack. Just – don't dismiss it without talking to me first, OK? Promise me that at least.'

Jack nodded. He'd promise pretty much anything right now if it meant he could pass out. 'Alright. Later.' He actually smiled a little as he turned and made his way towards the dirty mattress and welcome oblivion. He realised that the feeling he'd been dealing with since the sun had come up had gone away – he no longer felt like no one cared for him. And it was a welcome change, a feeling of relief that he couldn't deny. There was still a lot of shit running through his head from earlier but now that he felt he wasn't so alone, there might be hope for him after all.


	26. Peace Part 26

Peace – Chapter 26

Conrad waited until Jack had enough time to pass out, then he called his wife. Sheila was glad to hear from him but got worried when he asked her to look up rehab centres. He had to explain a little bit about Jack's drug problem, but he made it sound as though it was no big deal and nothing serious – Sheila frowned on drugs, as he had until a week ago, and she wouldn't want to help if she knew Jack was a hardcore user. He eventually got her to understand enough so she agreed to sort something out, and quickly – Con wanted a place booked for Jack as soon as humanly possible. He would find a way to persuade him that it was for the best.

He paced around for an hour or so, running various plans through his head to justify the fact that he'd taken matters into his own hands. Hopefully Jack would be able to see that he'd done it with good intentions, but the man was so all over the place at the moment it was hard to know how he'd react. The best way would be to somehow get him to _ask_ for help, but Con knew that that was never going to happen. So he continued to pace and worry, until eventually Sheila called him back. There were a couple of places that could take him on short notice, one that would take him the next day if he showed up. They were private voluntary establishments, where the person could leave whenever they chose. Con thought that Jack would be more willing to go if he didn't feel trapped there. Sheila had also spoken to their family doctor, and if necessary, he would see him the next day and refer him to a program. It was an option that Con didn't think would be likely to work, but it was an option and he wanted plenty of them around for when he spoke to his brother later on.

She was starting to get angry with him as they talked, asking him what was going on and when he was coming home. He ignored these questions and moved on - he had had another idea as he paced around. He gave her another set of instructions, telling her to go over to their lawyer's office and find certain documents, sign a few things and call him in the morning when it was all done. She didn't understand fully why he was asking her to do this and Con tried to placate her as best he could. He told her that as soon as he sorted something out for Jack he would be home and that helped her to calm down. He also had to promise to explain the whole thing to her, but in the privacy of his own head, he knew that he wouldn't. There were certain things he would leave out – Jack had never said to him that there was information that shouldn't be told to anyone else, so maybe it wasn't classified stuff, but Conrad felt like he should keep his brothers business private anyway. He knew that he wouldn't like it if someone blabbed his personal anguish to random strangers, so he would keep his mouth shut too. Besides, what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

He managed to get off the phone eventually and went back to pacing around and worrying. He had a hard job ahead of him, convincing Jack that this was for the best. But he would find a way. He had to. Jack would die if he didn't, he knew it.

Jack had crashed as soon as his head hit the pillow but he wasn't able to sleep long. A couple of hours after he'd passed out, he awoke to the nagging pull of withdrawal and he cursed as he forced his eyes fully open. He wanted nothing more than to lie there and sleep forever but his brain and body wouldn't let him. He couldn't bring himself to move at first, couldn't believe that even such a simple thing as sleeping was such a chore – but he forced himself up eventually and stumbled to the bathroom before heading back to find his works.

Conrad had heard him moving about and contemplated leaving him alone for a while in case he wanted some space, but he couldn't sit still downstairs and his apprehension about what he'd set in motion propelled him up to the bedroom. The door wasn't closed, but he still felt awkward when he walked in on Jack shooting up and he found it a bit embarrassing. Something about the ritual seemed somehow private, and seeing it done openly was like walking in on friends in the middle of a personal argument. He didn't know where to put himself, this wasn't like the first time he'd seen Jack do it when he'd been in the room already.

'Uhh…sorry. I'll leave you to it.' He started to back out but Jack motioned him back in with a jerk of his head.

'Don't worry about it. You've seen it before.' He pushed the plunger and closed his eyes, his fatigue dissolving in the powerful rush of the narcotic flowing through his system. He pulled the needle out and threw it down with his eyes still closed. 'Something I can do for you? You wanted to talk some more? I don't know if I feel like it right now.'

'That's OK. I just thought I should tell you something. Sound you out…'

Jack opened his eyes and they pierced right through Conrad's, instantly on their guard and full of suspicion. Con was a bit hurt by that, it seemed to say to him that Jack still didn't trust him and still expected him to hurt him in some way. He took a breath and hoped that he'd done the right thing.

'I spoke to Sheila this morning. I got her to arrange a place for you at a rehab centre. There's one open tomorrow if you want it. I just…well, I thought it might be best under the circumstances. I mean, you can kick the habit and it'll be easier on you than trying to do it yourself. ' Jack continued to stare and not say anything, his face looked angry and Con was worried that he'd done the wrong thing and ruined everything. He babbled on to try and fill the silence and stave off the fury that was sure to be coming. 'You can leave anytime you want. It's a voluntary program so it's not like you're tied to it. I just think that…you're not looking so good at the moment Jack and I'm worried about what'll happen if you don't get some help. That's all.' Almost as an afterthought, he added. 'And it's a private place that I'll be paying for, so you don't have to worry about that.' He stopped and waited anxiously, telling himself that even if he got another punch in the head for this, at least he would have tried. Jack looked really pissed off. He wished he would just say something. That stare was really unnerving.

Jack was high and told himself that the drugs were heightening his emotions and that was the real reason he had a lump like a golf ball in his throat. He wanted to speak but didn't know how to, or what he would say to such a gesture. His immediate gut reaction was to reject it but that didn't stop it being an incredibly kind thing for Con to have done. Jack wanted to thank him but couldn't trust himself to speak. After a minute or two, he pulled himself together inside and whispered around the lump that made his words thick. Hopefully Con would just think it was the heroin.

'I don't know. I don't think so. I just don't know. Thank you though. I'm going to sleep a bit more now, I can't think.' He lay down without watching for Conrad's reaction, hoping that he hadn't seemed rude or ungrateful. He just didn't want to break down and he couldn't make a decision without thinking about it properly, which he wasn't really in a state to do. If he got some sleep and came down a bit, maybe he could process it but at the moment, it was all a bit overwhelming. He couldn't quite get his head around the fact that Con, of all people, would make an effort for him, despite the recent improvement in their relationship.

Conrad was relieved, too relieved to be disappointed that Jack hadn't said 'yes' straight away. Not that he ever really expected him to, but a small part of him had been holding out hope. At least the idea hadn't been dismissed entirely – and anyway, he didn't plan on letting Jack say no to this. He would do whatever it took to get him to one of these places. Con watched Jack lie down and close his eyes, marvelling again at how fragile he looked. It really was incredible that anyone could be that thin and still pack a punch the way he had demonstrated a couple of times already, amazing that someone could even walk around and function the way he was.

But he wouldn't be able to do it for much longer. Conrad stood up and murmured a soft 'Sleep well,' as he left the room. He was more resolved than ever that Jack would make it through this. Whatever it took.

Jack waited until Con had gone before opening his eyes. A tear fell down his face. He almost wished that the man was still being an asshole, he knew how to deal with that. But this – he almost couldn't take it. Kindness from someone so unexpected, it threw him completely. What the hell was he going to do? The idea of rehab made relief swell over him – as always, the idea of being drug-free was much more appealing when he'd just taken a hit. And the thought of tapering off with methadone, in a clean and safe environment, was appealing.

But it was help again, and he just didn't know how to say 'yes.' He never thought of it as pride exactly, it was more that it had never really been offered from an outsider before. Teri and her family were different and he was a different man back then. Since he had a family of his own, he was the provider of aid to others, he didn't receive it. Didn't need it in the past. How could he change the habit of a lifetime?

Tiredness forced his eyes closed again and he let sleep take him. He would think about this later. There had to be a way to fix it all, somehow.

Eight hours later and Conrad was climbing the walls. He wanted this resolved, he wanted the fight to be over already. He wanted to be driving Jack back to Bakersfield where they could stay in a hotel for the night and get cleaned up properly, and then check him in first thing in the morning. This waiting around and wondering what was going to happen wasn't doing his nerves any good. The plan made perfect sense to Con but he knew Jack probably didn't feel that way.

Eventually there were sounds of movement from upstairs and he allowed himself to relax a little. At least the wait was over. He'd done nothing all day, just sat and then paced and then sat and tried to read and than paced…and on and on. It was the longest day he could ever remember enduring.

Jack appeared about an hour later, freshly showered and clearly high. He walked through to the sitting room where Con was standing, and sat down without a word. The ritual lighting of the ever-present cigarette over, he leaned back and looked like he was going to talk. Conrad eased himself into a chair and braced himself for the 'thanks but no thanks.'

'I've been thinking about it. I'm sorry if I was rude before, I just didn't know what to say and it kind of took me by surprise. I don't know if I can though Connie, it just doesn't seem right.'

'Why not?'

Jack had expected that question and was glad he'd got an answer all ready. 'Because I told you before – I wanted to do this for Kim. To prove to her that I _would_ do it for her. Going to a centre would be a cop-out. I wanted to do it myself.'

Con listened intently and thought he'd never heard anything so pig-headed. Did people really think like this? He ran his hands through his hair and sighed with exasperation. 'Honestly Jack – are you serious about this? Because its madness. You tried to do it the hard way, something that virtually no one would attempt. You even managed the worst of it, you went through withdrawal without caving in, which I've heard is a hellish thing to do. I don't know – maybe you would have stayed clean if I hadn't turned up and rocked the boat. The point is – you _did_ do it Jack. So it didn't last – you got further than most people would. And you've got worse things to deal with than most people do, so I think you should be damn proud of yourself for getting as far as you did. But now – fuck Jack, it's time to see the professionals. It really is. Have you seen yourself recently? You're bone thin. You haven't eaten in days, in fact, I've only seen you eat twice since I've been up here and that's over a week now. You're chain smoking, drinking like a madman and heroin is eating you up from the inside out. If you don't see someone – and I mean _very_ soon – you're going to die Jack. I'm not kidding. You can't keep doing this to yourself.'

Jack was taken aback by this outburst. It wasn't what he was expecting to hear at all and it got his back up, just a bit. Who the hell was this guy to tell him that he was killing himself? The indignation lasted all of twenty seconds before he saw that he was being stupid, Connie was only trying to tell him what he thought was best. And…shit, maybe he was right. But that didn't make it any easier to deal with. He dragged on his smoke, wishing that all this crap would just disappear. It wasn't like him to think that, normally he just accepted that stuff happened and tried to deal with it – but this situation was so convoluted, so messed up, that he couldn't help just wanting it all to go away.

He dropped his gaze to the hands that sat in his lap, and his voice was soft when he spoke. 'You may be right Connie. But it's hard, harder than you think. When I'm working, I'll take help wherever I can get it. It's different for personal stuff. I'm so used to being the person that knows how to deal with things and gets the job done – it's almost impossible to let go of that. And I've never needed anyone, except the people I had. I had Teri and could lean on her if I needed to. Then she was gone. I was on my own for a while after that, but then Kim came back and she looked after me for a long time, physically and mentally. And now I've lost her too. It's the first time in over twenty years that I've had no one. The two people that kept me grounded are gone, and I'm floundering about and…' Damnit, this was hard to admit. '…I don't know, I always thought I'd be all right. I guess I took them for granted. And this is the first time I've truly needed…' _Say it, say 'help.' Damnit man, just say it._ '…someone to look out for me, and I've ruined every relationship. It's no one's fault but my own. So, d'you see? After all this time, it's difficult to just accept that you want to help me out.'

Conrad looked at him and felt like shit. 'Jack…don't _you_ see? What you just said, about ruining every relationship – that's not true. You should have had your family to back you up and you don't, and that's _my_ fault. _I_ ruined that relationship for you. And I know it's hard for you to accept that I'm really sorry but hopefully this will help to prove it. I don't want you to think that I'm trying to fix it with money, because I'm not – shit, we both know that everything I've got was built on my inheritance and half of that should have been yours. So, please accept this. For your own sake, and for Kim's. It's nothing to do with me really, I'm just arranging the placement and picking up the tab. Please don't let anything that's happened between us get in the way of your having a life – more than anyone I've ever met, you deserve to have a life Jack. And this is just…' He paused to search for the right words. '…it's nothing compared to what I owe you. I have so much to make up for. And I don't think that this even counts as help really, because all I have to do is hand over a credit card. That's not real help because it doesn't involve anything personal. But – I really hope it'll be a start. I want you to live, so I can make things up to you properly. And you want to live so that you can see Kim again. So please Jack - I'll beg if you want to - but _please_ don't say 'no' to this because of pride. Please just let me do it and think no more of it.'

He was almost breathless as he stopped. It had all come out in a rush and he hoped it was enough. He meant what he was saying but he just hoped Jack believed it. He just wanted him to say 'yes,' that's all he had to say, and he would be nervous until he heard the word.

Jack sat and listened and as Conrad stopped talking he felt as though a great weight was lifted off his shoulders. The man was right. He really was. This wasn't about pride or doing it all yourself – this was a battle for survival. And he knew all about that. It was work all over again – you did whatever you could to survive the day and if you took a few hits along the way, so be it, as long as you were breathing and semi-upright at the end of it all, you had won. And by accepting this, he would win. He'd live to fight again and he'd do it healthy and hopefully, with Kim back in his life. He raised his head and although there were tears in his eyes, he smiled as he saw Con visibly relax and grin at him. They both knew without having to say a word.

Conrad reached for his phone as Jack slumped back in his chair, feeling lighter than he had for five years. 'I'll call Sheila and tell her to call the clinic, let them know you're coming. And then we should leave.'

'Leave?'

'Yeah…well, you can go in tomorrow Jack. We can drive into town and stay in a hotel, get cleaned up and I'll take you over in the morning.' Jack was shaking his head. 'What's the problem? You want to put it off a few days?'

'No, it's not that. Tomorrow's fine. But we can't go to a hotel. You and I have some things to talk about, remember? And I want them all left up here. I want the air cleared, once and for all. I didn't care about it all when I first came here, I didn't expect to see you – but we've been dancing around it for a week now, so what do you say we get into it and finish it?' Jack knew that Con would say yes, and the idea of getting it all squared away sat nicely with him. It would be neat and hopefully over with, there would be no more nasty family history lurking in the back of his mind as he dealt with rehab – he wanted to be able to emerge from this place, wherever it was, without all this shit he had been locking away. There was more than enough other crap that he wouldn't be able to talk about after all, so why bother holding on to the stuff that _could_ get talked about?

Con looked at the determined expression on his brother's face and said 'Yeah, OK Jack,' straight away. He knew that this was an example of the _real_ help he could offer, the kind that didn't involve money. The kind that was all about personal investment, and time, and effort – and he owed him an explanation. If he could even remember why he'd done the things he'd done that is. Well, of course he could. He remembered it all, and just as Jack had been sharing his life with him the last few days, now it was Conrad's turn to come clean.

He moved into the kitchen and got Sheila to confirm Jack's place at the clinic. She called him back after ten minutes or so and said they were expecting him before lunchtime the next day. Con dropped his voice and asked whether she had been to the lawyer's like he asked her to. She told him she had and everything was done. He smiled into the phone and told her he loved her, catching her off guard, it wasn't something he said very often. After they hung up, he couldn't stop grinning and Jack looked at him with surprise as he walked back to join him.

'What're you laughing about?'

'I just realised again that I love my w…' He stopped abruptly, realising suddenly how tactless finishing that sentence would have been. But Jack just gave a wan smile.

'I'm glad you're happy with her Connie. And although I believe that a man shouldn't interfere with another man's family, here's a bit of advice – don't ever stop telling her that you love her. Your son too. One thing I'm grateful for is that one of the last thing's I ever said to Teri was that I loved her…'

There was a slightly awkward pause, but Conrad took his words in the spirit in which they were intended, and he nodded. It was good advice after all and he would do well to remember it.

'So…this is it then Jack. I bet you'll be kind of glad to get out of this place really.'

Jack thought about that. This little cabin had become his whole world for the last week and a half, it had started to seem like the rest of the world didn't exist anymore. The thought of leaving and moving on with life, with actual hope of getting better, was both appealing and scary. He realised as he sat there that a large part of him had really thought he would die here and had never expected to see the outside world again – the thought of leaving took a bigger adjustment in his thinking than he had thought.

'I guess I will. It'll be weird. I'll never come back again, I know that much.'

'I don't blame you. I was surprised to see you here at all, I never thought you'd come back. I can't tell you how glad I am that you did though.' Neither of them knew how to get on to the subject at hand but Con was happy to put it off for a while longer. He wasn't avoiding it, he jut knew that they'd probably be talking all night as it was and there were a few other things he wanted to know about first. Something Jack had said earlier had made him curious. 'Hey, what did you mean earlier? When you said that Kim looked after you for a while. I can understand the 'mentally' part, I imagine that you were still suffering from Teri, both of you. But you make it sound as though you hadn't seen her – what happened? And why did she have to look after you physically as well?'

Jack was surprised that he had picked up on that, he hadn't even thought about what he was saying. But he might as well answer. They had all night. 'The day of the nuclear bomb, that was my first day back at work since Teri. They'd called me back in because of some guys I'd worked undercover with before, they had a connection with the bomb and I needed to go back under to get the information out of them. Anyway, I hadn't seen much of Kim for about a year. It was eighteen months after Teri died. Kim had lived with Teri's sister for a while up in San Jose, and I didn't get to see her often – she didn't want me near her. She wasn't angry, just hurting I think. At least, she said she wasn't angry. I never really knew whether to believe her or not. But still, at least she moved back to LA eventually, I felt better with her being in the same city. She got a couple of jobs as an au pair and she always told me when she moved, I used to catch up with her sometimes, call on her at the place she was living.' He lit another cigarette and reached for a beer that Con had brought back from the kitchen.

'I saw her in the morning when they were trying to get me back to CTU. I missed her so much and it killed me when she wouldn't return my calls or she refused to meet me for lunch. I just had to see her, so I went to the house where she'd just started working. She told me that she still wasn't ready to see me and that every time she looked at me she thought of her mother. That ripped me to shreds right there, I nearly cried right in front of her. I told her again that I was sorry and I knew it was all my fault. She kept saying it wasn't though, I almost believed that she really wasn't angry with me – but like I said, I don't know for sure. Anyway, not long after that, the President called me. I had been refusing to take the calls from CTU, it was only because of him that I went back. And y'know, even though it was a hellish day, he probably saved my life too. God knows what I would have done if I had been left to drift around the way I was back then.'

Con was again struck by how casually Jack talked about the President calling him, as though it was an everyday occurrence. And once again, he couldn't help but be impressed, although he was glad to note that he felt no jealousy this time around.

'So how did you go from not really talking, to her taking care of you?'

'Well, that's a really, _really_ long story. It's enough to say that it was a busy day and a lot of shit happened. I got caught up in events with the bomb as I told you a while ago – but I got injured too. I made it through the day but I was in pretty bad shape and Kim had had a rough day as well. It brought us back together and because of that, we got close again.' This was getting painful to talk about, but Jack wanted to in a way. He figured that the more he kept Kim in his mind, the easier the next few months would be. He needed to see her, and as long as he remembered that, he would make it.

'I don't understand exactly. Were your injuries bad? They must have been. What happened?'

Jack sighed and stubbed out his cigarette. 'Well, yeah, they were bad. I ran into some guys who wanted something from me, something important. I wouldn't tell them where it was and they tried to force me to tell them. I got some heart damage because of it…I was lucky. I did actually die for a few minutes there and…' He didn't want to talk about this. Those few minutes where he truly lost his hold on the world were not ones he had ever talked about and he wasn't about to start now. He looked up at Con with a dark look and his brother got the message, he didn't ask about that last comment.

'They forced you?' He paused. 'You're talking about torture aren't you...' It was a statement, not a question, and Con wondered how many more times Jack would astound him.

'Yeah. Well, it's something of an occupational hazard. I was trained to deal with it in the Army though, so that helped. And I've been through it once or twice before. These guys just got desperate and pushed it a bit too far. Anyway, I survived but it caused a few problems later on in the day. I had a heart attack and was in hospital for a while, but Kim came back to live with me and forced me to take it easy for a while. We got caught up and got close again – and I'll tell you, that was worth all the heart attacks in the world.'

Con stared. Jack was utterly serious. It had been obvious for days how much he loved Kim, but now he saw that the man really would die for her. He wondered if there was some way of getting in touch with her before the morning - surely Jack would want to talk to her? He didn't mention it yet though.

'So is she still a nanny?'

'No. She went to college and worked at CTU for a while. Until just after the day of the virus outbreak actually. She's engaged now, to the guy who used to be my partner.'

Con laughed. 'Well, they say every girl grows up to marry her father.'

Jack gave a rueful half-smile. 'God, I hope not…' Con saw what he meant and cursed himself again for being a tactless jerk.

'Hey, if the guy's anything like you, she'll be OK.'

'Thanks. Chase is a decent kid. He gave up fieldwork to be with her so I think they'll do OK. You can't work in the field in my line of work and hold down a decent relationship. Not a chance in hell. He has a daughter too though, so I think that helped with his decision. Either way, I'm just glad they're happy and safe.'

'Do you really believe that Jack? I mean, you were with Teri for so long. You did OK. You can't really be telling me that there's been no one for five years now?' Con couldn't believe that would be true. Jack was a good-looking guy, and a badass at that – surely women would be all over him? The guy obviously missed his wife…but five years? Conrad couldn't imagine being without a woman for five weeks.

'There have been one or two. I fucked it all up though. It's complicated.' Jack stood up and stretched After all the talking about Kim, he didn't want to ruin his almost-happy thoughts by feeling guilty about Kate and Claudia – and the others, the ones with no names that he would always be ashamed about. And the room was stuffy again, it was time for a break. He had been talking on autopilot for a while now, half his mind was on the fact that he would be leaving here tomorrow. It would really be over – and he wasn't dead. He really had a shot at getting clean. Jack could hardly believe it, maybe it was because of the recent hit, but all of a sudden he felt happy and light and hopeful. There was stuff to talk through still, but he was discovering that there was a world of difference between talking when you thought there was no way out, and talking when there's a future ahead of you. It added a different slant to everything. And he wanted to think about the good things for a while, before getting back into the dark things again.

'I'm going to get a bit of air Connie. I don't mind talking about this with you, but I'm kinda trying to digest the fact that I'll be in rehab this time tomorrow. I just want to go and get my head around it, OK?'

'Sure thing Jack. I'm starving anyway.' He laughed. 'I spent the day too worried to eat, I thought you might take my head off for taking matters into my own hands. I hope I didn't piss you off, I thought I did earlier.'

Jack stared at the floor. 'No, you didn't piss me off. I just couldn't speak because I was touched. I never expected you to do such a thing for me and I didn't know what to say. I still don't. Just…' He raised his head to look into his brother's face. '…thank you. I mean it.' He walked past without waiting for a response, but he dropped a hand too, and for a second he grasped Conrad's shoulder in a gesture that somehow managed to convey everything he felt.


	27. Peace Part 27

Peace – Chapter 27

The wind was getting up finally and although it was warm, Jack revelled in the feel of the air moving against his skin. It seemed like years since he'd felt anything other than stifling heat surrounding him and the change only helped to make his new optimism even more pronounced. He felt almost like a kid again, years seemed to have dropped away and he was approaching giddiness with the swell of hope that surged through him. It was better than any drug in the world.

Was this all it took? Someone had helped him and that was all he needed to get his feet back on the ground? He didn't kid himself that this would have worked before, but then again, it might have done. Who knew? The last ten days just seemed surreal now he looked back on them and who knows how they might have turned out if Con hadn't come up here and been stubborn and refused to leave. Jack felt so grateful and it was weird now, to think that he'd done everything he could to drive him away.

The pain of going cold turkey was still with him, he didn't think he would ever forget it completely, but it was dimming slightly. Maybe there would be a time when he could look back and not remember the fear and agony but for the moment he would hang on to it, use it as a reminder of what he'd done. For as much as he'd tried to blow off Conrad's words of the morning, some of them had hit home. No, he hadn't managed to stay clean. But he _had_ managed to get off drugs on his own and, while it wasn't pride he felt, at least it showed that he still had a kind of strength left in him. Maybe he wasn't completely broken after all.

He thought back to the questions he'd asked himself that morning, when he was wondering about why he couldn't just kill and remain unaffected. And something clicked into place for him, it was so simple really. It was because he was human, and not a psychopath. That's why it affected him so badly. People like Ramon Salazar, they could kill without giving it a second thought. But they had lost their humanity somewhere along the line, and even though it hurt, Jack was glad that he still had his. Maybe the pain was worth it. And it all fit together somehow – maybe accepting help from Conrad was the same thing. Perhaps it wasn't a sign of weakness, perhaps it just showed that he was a human being, who sometimes needed someone else to lean on. Saying 'yes' to this offer of help from Con hadn't been as excruciating as he thought it would be – maybe it was even a kind of strength in a way. Admitting that you couldn't do everything on your own and grabbing the hand that reached out to stop you falling – it had taken guts. And it would still be hard, there was still a battle to be fought. Rehab was no picnic. But Jack somehow had the feeling that he would make it. He had been offered a chance to get his life back and he wasn't stupid enough to turn it down.

The sun was getting low and Jack felt like a new man. There were still things to be talked about, and

still things to be hidden. But those dark secrets that he carried – maybe they could be accepted and laid to rest, somewhere in his head. It wouldn't be easy, but the way he felt right at this moment, there was a chance. And considering the absolute black hole he had been trapped in for a while now, a chance was better than nothing.

He grinned into the deep blue of the evening sky. One last night here. One night to talk and hopefully, lay more skeletons to rest. He would be honest about everything and he trusted that Con would be too and then they could move past this block that had been between them. They might even see each other again after he left the clinic. He would tell Kim about the uncle she didn't know she had and maybe she'd meet him. And now Jack had a nephew as well. Maybe…he stopped his thoughts and laughed out loud. Here he was, making plans for the future, even if they were small ones. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done that. But no, not yet. They were premature. He would get through this night first, then the next few months and then see where life took him.

For the first time in years, he could see a future for himself and he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. And of all people, Conrad was the one who had shown him the way. It was unbelievable but it was the truth, and Jack couldn't believe how good he felt.

* * *

Con had slumped back into his chair as Jack had left the house, laid his head back and stared at the ceiling. He felt like he had been in this house forever and it was weird to think that he would be going home tomorrow. He knew he had been changed by this experience and he was glad of it. He knew more about the world, more about the people who kept America safe. He had learned about drugs and what they did to people and why they were used. He had seen more pain than he ever thought it was possible for one person to feel, and he had been forced to face up to his previous actions and admit to his failings. But most importantly, he had got to know Jack. He no longer looked at him as a fifteen-year-old boy, now they had met as adults and could hopefully know each other for years to come. He now knew what it was like to offer unselfish help and truly think of someone other than himself – he didn't know if he had ever done that before, even with Sheila. He knew that would change when he got home. But there was still another night to go.

Jack had relived some of his most personal moments to satisfy Conrad's curiosity and soon it would be his turn to return the favour. This wouldn't be over until he did. But Con wasn't really apprehensive - despite the things he had to divulge that Jack didn't know about, he was kind of looking forward to it. After tonight the air would be clear and it was the last stumbling block. Once they had gotten over it, then they could really move on.

The shield on the porch banged against the house, caught in a sudden strong gust of wind, and it snapped him out of his reverie. Jack entered a few moments later, and Con smiled at the sight of him – he looked better. It was in the way he was carrying himself, his walk had a purpose to it and he no longer had blank eyes that seemed dead to the world. There was a hint of hope and youthfulness there instead, something about them reminded Con of the way he looked when they were kids. It was such a relief to see him like this and it was a surprise to find how strongly he felt about it. Conrad realised in that instant how deeply he had come to care for his brother over the past week and it shocked him, but pleased him too. He really thought he might have helped in a small way, but that wasn't important. What _was_ important was that Jack should get through this. And this was the first instance where Con really believed that he would.

'That storm's coming in finally. It's gonna rain like a sonofabitch later on. I'm glad the heat's broken though.' Jack almost laughed at the way he was commenting on something as mundane as the weather, but that was what normal people did, right? He grabbed the last two six-packs from the kitchen and the last bottle of Scotch and brought them into the sitting room. 'Might as well finish these off. I guess I'll be vice-free soon enough.' He also pulled his works out of his pocket and laid them on the table. There would be time for a last hit or two before the night was over and he didn't feel embarrassed about it. Not now he knew that he would soon be stopping forever. There was one more night of the old Jack, then he would leave that man behind if he could and move on.

Con accepted one of the six packs, pulled a beer free and cracked it open. There was a strange kind of camaraderie between them now and he enjoyed it, wouldn't do anything to break it. Jack settled in his usual chair, got comfortable and lit a smoke.

'I'm going to level with you here Connie. There's something I'd like to tell you about and I have to admit, it's for my own peace of mind more than anything else. It's something that you'll never be able to repeat to another living person. If you don't think you can keep it quiet, tell me – and be honest – and I won't tell you about it. There's no pressure, I've never been able to talk about it before so keeping it to myself won't be any great shakes. But…well, I'd like to get it off my chest and I won't be able to talk about it in rehab. I'm not breaking any laws, its not classified anymore because the press got wind of it after the virus incident and some of it has been reported. I'd just kind of like to talk about my part in it and I know I won't be able to do that with strangers in a clinic. I know you a little now so…what do you think? It'll answer some of the questions you've asked me recently and…well, I'll be honest. I want you to be truthful with me later on and I kind of feel like I should do the same now.'

Conrad knew he would never deny him the opportunity to unload, even if he had wanted to. But he didn't, he was curious about what Jack might be going to say and also, he recognised that Jack was telling him that he trusted him now – he wasn't about to throw that back in his face. 'I'd like to hear it Jack and no, I won't tell anyone about it. You can trust me. Also, yes, I'll be completely truthful with you later on.'

There was a shift in the atmosphere, it was intense but friendly. They had laid a few cards on the table and both felt it was safe to continue. Jack lit yet another cigarette and blew out a long stream of smoke while he contemplated where to begin.

'You remember those questions I was asking you this morning – about what you'd do if you had to shoot a good man to save other people?' Con nodded and the sudden twist of his stomach gave him an inkling of what was to come. 'Well…I had to do that. I had to murder a man. There's no other way to describe it.' There was a pause and Conrad felt himself become horrified all over again in the silence that followed. Jack didn't seem to notice as he hurried to justify his reasons for divulging the information.

'I'm not telling you this because I want sympathy or anything, please understand that, but it's one of the things I told myself I was going to resolve when I came up here. I need to do it before I leave because it's been eating away at me and I don't want to have to think about it anymore. I just can't. Of all the things I've had to do, it might just be the worst.'

'Tell me about it.'

Jack took a deep breath and poured himself a whisky before continuing. He passed the bottle over to his brother, he had a feeling that he might just need it.

'You know all about the virus that was released by terrorists I'm assuming?' Con nodded. 'The guy behind it was someone I'd worked with before, on the mission that was sabotaged. The one that led to the assassination attempt on Palmer a year later and wound up with Teri getting killed. You remember I told you about it?' Another nod. 'Well, I thought this guy was dead but I was wrong. He'd been held in Kosovo for two years and God only knows what they did to him. I don't know how he got away but obviously he'd broken in some way. He used to be a good man but his time in captivity had made him hate America and he wanted revenge.

He'd already released the virus into the hotel, as you know. It was a demonstration of power, he was showing us that he was willing to use it – that his threats weren't empty. He really wanted to wipe out as many people as he could. Obviously we couldn't let that happen, the President was really over a barrel. The man made certain demands, simple ones at first. They were just to make people jump through hoops a little, to show the power he held. And then they weren't simple anymore.'

Jack stopped for a drink, welcoming the fire that blazed down his throat and kept him in the present. He didn't want to relive everything he felt from the moment that he'd taken Palmer's phone call, telling him what he would have to do.

'One of the CTU Division Directors was a man named Ryan Chappelle. He was a bit of a pain in the ass to be honest but he was decent all the same. He and I used to butt heads because he did everything by the book and sometimes that just doesn't work when you're out in the field. Anyway, he was following the money trails that this guy was leaving, trying to pick up a thread on where he might be or find some kind of clue that would lead us to some information we could use to find him. Ryan was good at that. I was at CTU at the time and I got a phone call from the President.' He needed more Scotch and took the bottle back from Con. 'This guy had gotten wind that Ryan was following his money. He called President Palmer – his next demand was that Ryan be killed. His body was to be delivered to a certain place in less than an hour.'

Jack's voice was starting to shake a little and Conrad's heart went out to him again. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. 'There was no way around it. We used what little time we had and we did all we could to catch the man before then. But we couldn't find him. No one could think of any alternative, he had already proven that he was willing to kill as many people as he felt he needed to. And he planned to do it anyway, we knew that, but we wanted to delay it for as long as we could in the hope that we would catch him first.

So…the President said he didn't know who else he could ask. He apologised for calling me and I told him it was OK. I took Ryan to where I supposed to, and when we failed to get to the man in time – I shot him in the back of the head.' Jack's voice cracked and he couldn't help but let his eyes fill with water. This was the first time he had ever spoken about this out loud, he'd never even discussed it with Tony who had known about it all. Of course, now Tony was in prison so…

'It was just so pointless Connie, that's what I can't reconcile. The stuff Ryan was working on, someone else took over and we found the information we needed. That was ultimately how we got him. Having Chappelle killed didn't do him the slightest bit of good. He had only managed to delay us for an hour or so – but because he wanted a small delay and to flex his muscles, I had to murder someone. And when I asked you those questions earlier on, you said what I've been trying to force myself not to think. You said that if you were in that position, you hoped that someone else would do it. And part of me knows that Palmer did the right thing by calling me – it's the sort of work I'm paid to do and he's kind of a friend, so I'm probably the first person he'd think of to call. But that doesn't make it any easier. Part of me really wishes that he'd just called someone from Special Forces and had them do it. They wouldn't have known Ryan and wouldn't have felt this much remorse. He'd just be collateral damage to them – but of course, that's the flip side of the coin. That's the part of me that's glad it was me. At least he was finished off by someone who gave a damn about doing it.'

Jack wiped at his eyes and tried to get a hold of himself. 'Ryan's the reason I couldn't kill myself yesterday morning. He tried to kill himself too. He begged me to give him the gun so he could end it himself, and I did – but he couldn't pull the trigger. The will to live was too strong. Yesterday, I was so ready to throw my life away but when I remembered him, down on his knees and praying for the strength to end his own life – I couldn't do it. He gave up his life so that millions of people would be safe. I was just going to end mine because I was too weak to live anymore. I killed Ryan and he ended up saving me yesterday. But I can't help wishing that it was reversed. I'd have gladly taken his place that day – after all, I created the whole mess in the first place. If I hadn't left this guy in Kosovo…'

He let the sentence trail off and took another drink. 'The worst thing is though – I feel almost guiltier about what I was thinking before I did it. After I took the phone call from Palmer, all I could think was 'How can I do this?' I told the CTU Director, who's kind of a friend, 'If we don't find this guy by seven, I don't know what I'm going to do.' At that stage, it felt more about me than about Ryan. That just makes me sick now, I was more concerned with how I felt about being the one who had to pull the trigger, than about Ryan, who was going to be dead.' It was true, he'd felt guilty about that for almost a year now. It seemed so selfish in the light of what Ryan had had to sacrifice.

'You shouldn't feel bad about that Jack. It was because you were going to have to live with it. Ryan would be dead no matter who did it.' Con shifted in his seat and was astounded once again by this new revelation of Jack's. The more he heard about his brother, the more he couldn't believe that he was still alive, and he decided to tell him so. 'Jack, I don't know how you've done this job for so long. I can't even get my head around the decisions you've had to make. And once again – none of it's your fault. I'm not surprised that you feel terrible about it and I'd be shocked and worried if you didn't, because anyone who could do these things and not feel any consequences would be mentally ill.

But you didn't have a choice. The President told you to do it – and he didn't have a choice either. Maybe this sounds callous of me, especially as I didn't know this guy Ryan – but it _is_ better that he died than the millions that would have taken his place. I saw the news the day they announced that the threat was over, the virus was no longer spreading – it killed over four thousand people before it was completely contained. And that was just from the person that got out of the hotel – if you're right and this terrorist would have released it into the general population if you hadn't done what he asked, then I say you did the right thing. Please don't think I'm indifferent to the pain it's causing you now, because I'm really not. It must be horrific and I hope talking about it has helped a bit. Just know that I don't think you should beat yourself up anymore. You did the right thing.

And also, you said that you can't help wishing things were reversed with Ryan, that you had died instead – Jack, the fact that you sacrificed him for everyone else makes it right that you should be alive. Few other people could have done what you did – it saved everybody. You made the hard choice and you're living with it, but you _do_ deserve to live. Everybody should be thanking you, you shouldn't be left to deal with all this the way you are.'

Jack listened to what Con was saying and he was glad that his brother was being forthright with him. He felt bad about admitting this to himself – but it did make him feel better to hear someone else tell him it wasn't his fault. He'd gone over the scenario a million times in his head, and every time he did, he reached the same conclusion – that there was no other option at the time. But that didn't help to dispel the image of Ryan crying, and desperately trying to kill himself, it didn't help to remove the memory of his own whispered prayer to a God he didn't believe in anymore. He thought that would stay with him forever, and it probably should. But telling the tale out loud had made a difference and once he'd managed to wipe away the last tear, relief washed through him once again. At least that was over with and he'd told the truth and he'd never have to talk about it again. He lit a cigarette and felt the nicotine relax him slightly as he sat back in his chair.

'Thanks Connie. It feels better to have got it out.' He laughed softly. 'I gotta stop crying around you though, it seems to be all I'm doing.' Under normal circumstances he'd feel embarrassed about it, but these weren't normal circumstances and they both knew it.

'Anytime Jack. I'm glad you feel better.'

And that was that. Jack could hardly believe it. He would have thought that telling that story would have been more difficult than it turned out to be, and that there would have been more disbelief from his brother - but he was grateful it was done now. There was no need to spell out every emotion and recount every sordid detail. Con had got the point and told him what he thought, and now it was over. Not out of his mind of course, but it didn't seem as raw anymore, as though working through it out loud had taken some of the edge away. So it was true – sharing difficulties with people really did lessen them. He'd never really tried that before. Weird.

Con watched him relax and was glad. He tried not to let his emotions show on his face because he didn't want to upset Jack and make him feel bad. The truth was, he felt sick. Not in an angry way, he wasn't mad at anyone for what he had heard – but this last tale was just another thing that added to the incredulity he felt. The more time he spent with Jack, the more his eyes were opened to the world and it was a lot to take in. He had no doubt that there were more things Jack could tell him but if he did, Con's head might explode.

He thought back to what he'd been doing the day the virus broke out – he hadn't gone into work that day since he was semi-retired now, he'd looked after Jared while Sheila went shopping, then they'd gone out for lunch and went to a friends in the afternoon who had a baby as well. It was when they'd got home that they'd turned on the news and heard that there had been suspicious activity around a hotel in LA and that there seemed to be a threat. A few hours later the story had broken about containment zones being set up in different parts of the city and gradually the full story emerged from there. There had been a few short news items that included mention of a government official who had lost his life in the line of duty – Con hadn't thought much about it. Like many other wealthy people that lived not too far from Los Angeles, he'd taken his family north, away from danger. They'd driven to Seattle to Sheila's parent's place, just to be safe – not that they really felt threatened. It was all too detached from their own cosy reality to be a real danger to them.

And all the time, his own brother had been at the heart of the action, saving people's life and tearing himself apart for the good of people he'd never met. It really was incredible. Yet again, Conrad asked himself how someone got into doing this kind of thing. Jack had never really answered that question satisfactorily so he decided to ask it again.

'Can I ask you something again Jack? I've asked you before but – I dunno, I just feel like there's something you weren't telling me. You don't have to of course, but….'

'Go ahead.'

'How you got into your kind of work. I know you told me that's it because someone recognised you'd be good at it. But how does someone look at a young man and say 'that kid's going to be good at dealing with torture and killing people and doing the hard stuff'? How does that happen? And what made you say 'yes' when they offered it to you?'

Jack sighed quietly. He had hoped that Con wouldn't ask this. It wasn't that he didn't know the answer as such, more that it was hard to articulate. He might as well try though, he did say he would be honest.

'Well – I was telling the truth Connie. Guys in the Army have an eye for people like me, it's what a lot of them are trained to do after all – pick the right people for the right jobs. It's as simple as that. People who work in Special Forces know what it takes to do the job, so they look for people with the same qualities as they have. It mostly comes down to mental strength. They're not going to be interested in guys that flake out during the forced marches or long runs for example. They're looking for people that push through the pain barrier and keep going, no matter what. I was one of those, and they noticed right away, from the first week of basic training. So then they keep an eye on you and see how you do with the rest of your training. A head for tactics and leadership qualities are essential– you can't be afraid to make decisions and you have to have the strength of your convictions. Other people have to respect you. And then there are practical things – marksmanship is pretty important. Survival training, where they throw you out in the wilderness and you have to survive. A head for heights so that you can jump out of planes without fear, abseil down buildings – all of that. I was fine with all of it, I didn't have much fear. I'd try anything and I was good at it. They taught me to fly planes and helicopters as well, which I thought was really cool of course. Why would I turn any of that down? I enjoyed being pushed to the limit. So when they pulled me into my CO's office one day and asked me if I'd be interested in doing a course for Delta training, I said yes straight away.' He shrugged. 'I never looked back after that.'

'So…you thought it sounded like fun, so you said 'yes'? Didn't you ever think about what you might have to do?'

'Of course I did. I had Teri and Kim by then, remember? Of course I wondered if it was the right thing. But the truth is Con, I needed a challenge. Some people do. Since Teri died, I've asked myself over and over whether I did the right thing. If I knew what would happen in the end, I wouldn't have done it – but it suited who I was at the time. It wasn't long after Sam had kicked me out, only a few years. I was still pretty raw over that. I felt that I needed to prove to myself that I wasn't all the things he said I was. If I had made life easy on myself, it kinda would have proved him right – that I was no good. So I worked hard and pushed myself harder, it used to worry Teri. I used to come home from courses and collapse into bed and sleep for most of the weekend. I don't think I was a very good husband for a few years there. It wasn't that work was more important, nothing was more important than my family – I just had something to prove. So I did.'

Conrad felt bad all over again. Here was yet more proof that he had damaged his brother in more ways than he had ever thought possible. 'So when did you stop?'

Jack looked confused. 'Stop what?'

'Trying to prove something.'

He looked at Conrad and wondered whether he had misjudged him. Was the man dense? He didn't seem to notice the pause though, and continued. 'I mean, you left the Army. Something must have changed.'

'Yeah something changed. I was getting bored. Also, I didn't want to travel so much because Kim was growing up and I was missing it. I was specialising in anti-terrorism work by then anyway, and an old boss of mine offered me a job with CTU. So I took it. I could still serve my country, and do a job that was becoming more relevant. Terrorism was getting to be a bigger threat than ever and I felt my training could be put to better use in a specialised branch of the CIA.'

'So that was when you stopped pushing yourself so hard?'

Jack slowly put another cigarette in his mouth. 'No Con. I never did. Are you asking me when I stopped thinking that I was no good? When Sam's influence stopped being a problem for me? Because I've been thinking about that since you got here. And the answer is – well, never. Or maybe I'm wrong and I carried on working so hard because it had become habit. But no, I never slowed down. I always kind of thought that if I let up, even for a short while, I'd be proving him right. I could always hear him, the day I left, saying that I was a criminal and I'd never amount to anything. I'd always be useless. And anytime I came close to not giving 110, I'd hear him and it would force me to keep going. Does that answer your question?' He couldn't stop the note of bitterness creeping into his voice.

Con felt about two inches tall. He couldn't believe he'd asked such a stupid question, he hadn't thought about it at all. He had got the message that Jack worked his ass off at first because of what had happened at home – he didn't realise the effects of that time in his life would last forever. No wonder he had always felt like the stupid one out of the three of them – it was because he was.

'I'm sorry Jack. I didn't realise that it had lasted this long. When you said that you hadn't thought about it all in years, I just assumed that meant that you'd got past all of it. It didn't occur to me that it would have affected your outlook so strongly. But - please don't take this as a criticism, because I don't mean it that way – why did you listen to him? Out of all things he said, why did that one stick with you? You knew that you hadn't done anything wrong, and it was all me – why did you believe him?'

Jack felt like walking over and stubbing his smoke out in his brother's eye, the wave of anger was that strong. 'Because…fucking _hell_ Con, what was I supposed to think! Yes, I knew I hadn't done anything wrong – but I was fifteen years old! I was the one who was kicked out on to the streets and you were nineteen, supposedly an adult, and were allowed to stay at home. I figured that I must have broken some rule I didn't know about and that was why I was being punished – apart from the fact that Sam didn't know that it was you who was to blame of course. I didn't know why no one believed me when I said I didn't…' He broke off, he didn't want to spell it out. That was for Conrad to do whenever he felt ready. It was up to his brother to admit the crime. Besides, he had been feeling so good and he didn't want to get angry and hurt all over again. This conversation was getting heated and it was time for a break. He would fix and that would make him feel better. But he had to add something, just so that it was said and out in the open, so he muttered…

'I would _never_ have done that to Becky. _Never_. And no one believed me, not even her father, who knew that I loved her. When I realised that he had taken your word over mine, even though he didn't know you so well, I figured that I had stepped over a line somewhere. Because if I hadn't done something wrong, he would never have taken a knife and a baseball bat to me, would he? It took years, and Teri, to show me that I wasn't in the wrong at all. I still don't know what you said to him though, to get him to hate me so much.'

It was a statement that was really an open question and Con knew it was his cue to start the conversation they needed to have. But he was stopped by the ring of his cell phone out in the kitchen and Jack jerked his head to indicate he should get it.

'I want to go for a walk down to the lake anyway, before it gets completely dark. It'll be the last time I see it. I'll be a while, come down if you want to. If not, I'll be back in an hour or two.' He picked up his works and slid them into his pocket along with his smokes. The turn the conversation had taken had rattled him more than he thought it would and he wanted to calm down before they got into the rest of it.

Con watched him go as he picked up the phone and answered it. The sudden anger from Jack bothered him – if he was this mad at just this slight touch on the subject, what would he be like when they got into it properly? His earlier hopes for an easy reconciliation of the past began to fade and he realised that the night was going to be a rough one.


	28. Peace Part 28

Peace – Chapter 28

It was Conrad's lawyer on the phone. He had been a friend for a long time, that was why he made the effort to call, even though it was late. He told Con that he had just taken the deeds of the house over to Sheila, she had signed them in his absence, and that the cabin was now solely in Jack's name. Con thanked him and asked him to fax a copy of the documents over to the ranger's station near to where he was at the moment, he'd pick the originals up in the morning. He gave the number and was assured that it would be done shortly. Con then called the ranger and let him know that he would be over in a little while and why. Everything was set and he was glad Jack had taken a walk, it gave him the time to go and pick the papers up. They weren't really necessary but he wanted to have proof to show his brother what he had done. He couldn't be sure that Jack would be happy about it, he had openly said that he would never come back to this place. But at least it was now his to do with exactly as he wished, even if that meant the old family house would be demolished. Con had liked it up here but now that he had a better understanding of the effects the events here had had on Jack, he no longer felt an affinity with the place. He doubted he would ever come back either, even if Jack let him.

Still, it felt weird to be standing in a house that was no longer his in any way. He sighed. It had had to be done. He had no right to come here anymore. And it was another gesture on his part, hopefully it would help cement the new relationship they had started to build. He grabbed his car keys and headed for the door. He might as well go and pick up the fax now, then he'd go and see if Jack had calmed down.

The walk helped and Jack's anger dissipated after a few minutes. It felt good to be stretching his legs again, he'd only been out a couple of times since he'd been up here and that was unusual for a man as physical as he was. Of course, he was in bad shape at the moment but rehab would help him out there. It would be nice to be able to run again, he'd probably collapse if he tried it at the moment.

He really couldn't figure Conrad out sometimes. He could be so intuitive at times, and then be utterly dense the next moment. It was frustrating. Had the man really believed that Jack ran himself into the ground for the fun of it? Did he really spend all these years thinking that Jack went off to military school and never gave his family a second thought, never worried about those words of their father's that he could still hear to this day? Con obviously took things at face value whenever he could – things that might implicate him with some blame anyway. He didn't mind looking deeper when it was just something simple like a drug addiction, or a dead wife – but when it was something about his own past actions, that was a different matter. Jack snorted and threw a cigarette casually into his mouth, his face twisted into a frown. Well, he had better tell the truth later on. He had better explain fully why he had done what he did. It started making Jack even angrier as he thought about it – then he realised that he was getting worked up over something that might not happen. Con might be honest and he deserved the benefit of the doubt until he proved otherwise. Jack relaxed slightly and tried to think about something else. What happened later would be whatever it was, and he could do nothing about it yet.

It was so beautiful here. It struck him again as he walked through the forest, the late evening sun throwing shafts of soft light through the trees. It occurred to him that he'd better make the most of it, he had no intention of returning. He'd find beauty elsewhere.

The lake shimmered softly at him as he rounded the last corner and he stopped for a moment to take it in. The scene looked like it belonged on a postcard, it was perfect. But Jack hated it. Pretty as it would seem to an outsider, all it really was was a huge tomb, a permanent memorial stone with his sister's name on it. There was no need for him to visit her grave, all he had to do was come here and stare at the water. This was where she had died and although the anguish had lessened over time, it was still there, lurking at the back of mind. He could still hear his father accusing him of murdering her, years after it had happened, as the man ranted and raved and let his grief turn to violence towards his sons. Conrad seemed to think no less of the man because of it, he seemed to have got past the few times he felt the snap of the belt buckle – but then, he didn't suffer it as much as Jack had. Jack wondered what he would have done if Con had told him their father was still alive. Would he have gone to see him? He might have – not to clear the air, just to beat the crap out of him.

Jack smiled at his thought. He knew he would never have done that. He would have left it in the past where it belonged. And that's where he wanted it to stay after tonight too, he never wanted to think about it again. But it seemed fitting that he should come down here one last time, to say a last goodbye to Savannah if nothing else. He would still carry her with him of course, but hopefully he would be able to concentrate on the good things soon, not always associate her with what happened afterwards. He hoped so anyway.

He made his way to the rock he always rested on, and sat down once more. The sun was almost down now but its final rays bounced off the surface of the water in a blaze of colour and sparkling glory. Clouds had gathered from behind the mountains and they were stained blood red as they settled ominously over the hills and started to drift slowly towards the forest, like huge icebergs through calm seas. Jack shivered slightly, even though it was still warm and humid. There was an electricity in the air that seemed to make the trees hum slightly, and it was a little unnerving. The wildlife seemed to have noticed it too because there wasn't a sound to be heard – everything had gone to ground or nest. Jack wondered what he was doing out here. Anyone could see what was coming.

He pulled his box out and was glad that he had a couple of doses made up in vials already. He didn't want to have to cook up in the breeze. Easier this way. Practised hands eased the needle into the small container and drew the liquid back in. Would this be his last ever hit? You weren't supposed to be high when you went into a clinic, but maybe it was different for private places. There might be time for another one in the morning, maybe not. He'd see.

The word went fuzzy as always when he pushed the plunger home, but it was surreal this time because the colour of the sun and the reflections of the water swirled around him and made him feel like he'd been sucked into a painting or something. It was really bizarre and he started to laugh softly. Well, if this was his last, at least it was a beautiful one. He packed up, lit a smoke and relaxed to enjoy his high. Why not? He would be free of all of this soon enough.

Conrad arrived back at the cabin, the deeds to the house next to him. He had had to explain to Joe, the ranger, that he probably wouldn't be back up again as the house now belonged to his brother. Joe had been shocked that Jack was in the area again, he was an old guy that remembered them from the days when the boys were young. He knew that Sam had banished Jack years ago and privately thought that Sam was an evil man, he had never really believed that the nice young lad had done what they said he did. He kept his thoughts to himself though and just asked that Conrad mention him to Jack and let him know that he'd hope to see him around in the future. Con said he would pass that on but didn't add that he didn't think it was likely that Jack would be seen around here again.

He sat behind the wheel of his truck and contemplated what to do. The sky was clouding over and it felt like the storm was getting pretty close. He could go inside and wait for Jack but that might take a while and he was restless. A walk down to the lake might calm him down. He knew why he felt jumpy but that didn't stop the feeling. So he folded up the papers and stuck them in the pocket of his jeans and set out down the path he had walked so many times before.

The wind was picking up but there were quiet moments, and during one of them Jack thought he heard the distant hum of an engine. He figured Con had gone out somewhere, or there was a visitor – either way, he didn't feel like moving yet. He somehow knew his brother would be down eventually, so he just waited.

Sure enough, he soon heard boots scuffing over stones and he turned to see Conrad approaching. It was strange how he'd forgotten how much the man looked like their father, it could be Sam picking his way over the uneven ground right now. They even wore their dark brown hair in the same style and Con wore the same kind of clothes that Sam used to wear when they where here on vacation. Jack was suddenly sure that he had dreamed the last twenty-five years, it was so obvious to him that he was fifteen again and the man walking over with his head down, checking for loose stones, was in fact his father, come to tell him that he knew what he'd done and he would never be welcome in his house again. Jack knew that in five minutes a short, plump blond woman would emerge from the trees and she would have a tall, dark young man by her side, gallantly holding her arm over the rocks, acting the part of the perfect gentleman. And he, Jack, fifteen years old, short and skinny with blond hair over his collar and dressed in ripped jeans and a dirty white T-shirt would once again be made an outcast, would once again be tossed out into the world to make his own way. There would be a beating from Neo later and he'd be in hospital tomorrow, in a foster home a week after that…he knew it was coming, and fear gripped him. He was paralysed by it, he could hardly think for terror…

'You OK Jack? You look white, whiter than normal I mean…'

Sam's voice, coming at him from twenty-five years ago…but no, wait, he hadn't said that. What? Whiter than normal…? Jack suddenly drew in a great breath that caught in his throat and he was back in the present. The world swam for a moment as he tried to centre his grip on reality…fuck, had that last dosage been too strong? Had he remembered to put an adrenaline shot in the car? No, he was OK, the static in the air had just got to him for a moment there…

'Yeah, I'm alright. Did you go somewhere? I thought I heard a car.'

'Just up to the ranger's station. I had to pick up a fax. Do you remember Joe? He was here when we were kids. Used to give us ice cream and sodas from their supplies when we went near there. He remembers you.'

Jack smiled. Another face from the past. 'Yeah, I remember him. He was a nice guy. He still works up here?'

'Yeah, he loves the area too much to leave. I told him you were here, I hope you don't mind. He asked if I ever found out who broke the window and I told him you had lost your keys…'

Both sets of eyes pulled out to look over the lake, seemingly of their own accord. Well yes, he had lost them in a way. If you throw them into a lake that size, chances are you're never finding them again.

Con cleared his throat awkwardly. 'Anyway, I told him we were leaving in the morning and he asked me to say hi from him and that he hopes to see you around again.'

That got a snort from Jack. 'Well it's not likely.' He moved over on the rock. 'You wanna sit?'

'Sure.' They sat in silence for a while, staring over the water. Jack was waiting quietly but not letting it be known, Con was trying to find a place to start. He searched his memory, looking for the moment where it had all gone wrong. It took a while to pinpoint but he got there eventually and he wasn't surprised when he allowed himself to recall the emotion he felt at the time – of course, it was jealousy.

'You have to understand Jack, I really hated you back then. I'm not saying that it justifies what I did, because it doesn't and I'm not trying to excuse myself. The only reason I can give for hating you was that I was so incredibly jealous. You were so much better at everything than I was, so much smarter, better looking, more athletic and you were closer to Mom and Savannah. I was even jealous that you guys were twins and I felt like I was on my own, that no one cared about the ugly third kid, even though I was older.'

Jack turned his head to look at him. 'I never gave you any reason to feel like that Con. I didn't gloat over being on any of the school teams, or over my grades. I know I didn't because I knew that Mom made a fuss over me and I didn't want to make you feel bad. I made a point of it, especially after Savannah died.'

'I know. And I hated you even more for that. Because you were considerate as well, and somehow the fact that you never mentioned it made it even worse. Everyone was too polite to talk about it but I knew what people were thinking, and it's bad when that happens, because everything you cook up in your imagination is probably a hundred times worse than what's actually going on in people's heads. I think it would have been better if people just told me I was stupid but they liked me anyway. As it was, every time Mom and Dad saw my report card and made out like it was great, I knew they were lying and it just made me feel like shit.' Con was surprised to find that this cut him even now. Not too badly because he did alright in the end, but it was a little niggle that caused his stomach to clench when he thought about it.

Jack had never looked at the situation like that, it had never occurred to him that being considerate was worse than telling the outright truth. 'Fuck…I'm sorry Connie. I never realised. I should've.' But Con was waving his apology away.

'No no. Don't, please. I'm sure if you were nasty about it, I would've hated you for that too. I was a prick back then, remember?' Jack smirked. True.

'Anyway, then Savannah died. And I missed her so much. I wasn't embarrassed to admit to myself that I loved her, because she was a girl and I didn't see her as a threat. In my mind, you were the jerk and she was cool. I never could get close to her though, because you were her twin – you had more 'right' to her than I did. Every time she was upset about something, it was you that got to see if she was OK, I couldn't because I was just her other brother. Every time someone tried to cause her trouble at school, it was you that managed to stand up for her first, and you were the hero. I never got a look in with her. And then…' Conrad tried to swallow the lump in his throat and couldn't quite manage it. '…it was my fault she died. But I couldn't bear to admit it. That's why I told Dad that it was all your idea. I never really expected you to go along with it, but you were in shock I think, and you did. And I hated you for that too because you got the punishment I thought I deserved. Because I got away with it, I managed to convince myself that it really _was_ your fault. But I knew it wasn't really – that's why I kept beating the shit out of you and getting you in trouble. I told myself you deserved it for killing her, it was the only way I could keep the truth from coming out.'

Jack had wanted him to be honest but now he wasn't sure if he could take this much truth. Every word was cutting like a knife in his gut, every new admission twisted it a little further. But he couldn't stop him, he had to keep going.

'And then you started spending all that time with Becky. Savannah's best friend. I always wondered afterwards whether you would have got together with her if Savannah had lived, or whether you were just kind of keeping her alive through her friend. Anyway, you know how beautiful she was. She was always too young for me so I never thought anything of it – until the year it was obvious that the two of you were more than friends. We came up here like usual, remember? Even though Mom was in the institution at the time. Before that time you'd always been nothing more than buddies – but that year, it seemed different. I got curious and followed you one day when you went to meet her. You met her over there…' he gestured to the other side of the lake, on the side near the reservation. '…and went off into the forest, to that little hideout you'd built a few years before. You were holding hands so I'd found out what I wanted to know – but I still followed you. I saw you making out with her and I just wanted to rip your head off. I was four years older and I'd never had a girlfriend and there you were, twelve years old and necking with the prettiest girl for a hundred miles. I could've killed you.'

Jack remembered that particular summer well. It was the first time he'd kissed a girl and he'd been so proud that Becky had wanted him to, she really was stunning. Looking forward to her letters and seeing her was what kept him going at the time, Con was making life hell at home, Sam was getting more free with his fists and their Mom was in and out of institutions all the time. It had been really rough but she was always a calming influence on him, even though he only got to see her in the summer, and sometimes Spring break. She had been so perfect for him at the time – regardless of what came afterwards, he always looked back on the start of that relationship with happiness and pleasure.

'I got a bit obsessed with the idea of the two of you, I still couldn't tell you why. I really don't know. Looking back, it was so irrational. That was the fall I broke your arm, and I did it because I was so angry with you. I'd stolen a letter you were about to send her and I read it and…'

Wow, that was embarrassing to admit. He had to look away as Jack's head whipped around to glare at him. 'You stole a letter?'

He nodded shamefully. It seemed a little stupid to be so embarrassed about stuff that had happened so long ago but he was. Maybe because it had never been admitted before. 'Yeah. I wanted to know what you talked about. Whether you told her any of the stuff I did to you. But you didn't, you just talked about school and how you'd made honour roll and the baseball team and you missed her and couldn't wait to see her. I was angry that you weren't even nasty about me in a private letter. I guess I wanted some evidence that you weren't as perfect as everyone made you out to be. It was the ending that drove me crazy though. You put something about how it was your birthday in a couple of weeks and you'd been saving up part of your allowance to buy some flowers for Savannah's grave and you hoped that Dad would drive you over to the cemetery. It drove me crazy. Of course I knew it was your birthday coming up, but it had never occurred to me to do something like that for her. It just seemed to prove to me that I wasn't good enough to be her brother, and it made you seem like more of a jerk to me. So I put the letter back and went to wait for you to walk through the park on your way back from baseball practice. And then…' Well, Jack had been there. He didn't need to spell it out.

Jack was way ahead of him and was reliving the moment when he had felt the bone snap because his arm was twisted so far up his back there was nothing else it could do but break. He had been face down in the dirt, and all he could think of was that his dad was going to kill him for getting his baseball uniform so messed up. All of Con's weight had been on his lower back but the arm being pulled hadn't hurt at first – until he'd twisted it against the joint and wrenched it so far up that he'd almost pulled the shoulder out of its socket as well. The wrist had finally snapped and that was when it started to hurt, really hurt – especially as Con hadn't let it go. He carried on twisting until Jack was screaming and purple spots were floating in front of his eyes. Then he wiggled it, laughing a crazy laugh the whole time, until Jack passed out. He'd woken up alone later on, he didn't know much later, and had to walk the rest of the way home, vomiting occasionally from the pain. Sam had taken one look at him and sighed, called him a 'damn pain in the ass' and reluctantly taken him to hospital. Con had pretended like he was concerned until their father left the room, then whispered that he'd break the other one, and both legs, if Jack squealed on him. Jack had remembered the crazy laugh ringing in his ears and believed him. He hadn't said anything.

'So, yeah. It was always on my mind, you and Becky. The next summer I followed you occasionally but you didn't do much, just talked and made out. It never occurred to me that it was weird behaviour for a seventeen-year-old, to be following his kid brother and his girlfriend. But I didn't do it often, I spent most of that summer drinking with a few of the older Indian boys that were up at the time. I wanted to be away from the cabin because Mom was there and it drove me crazy to see her so fucked up.

That was how it was for the next couple of years. I graduated school and didn't know what I was going to do next, college wasn't really an option. Dad didn't care if I stayed at home as long as I didn't bother him too much, I don't know what you were doing at the time. Studying probably, I do remember you kept up your grades through everything. I'd pretty much forgotten about you and Becky because I'd had a couple of girlfriends by then. And I was drinking a lot. The guys from work told me about this bar that never checked ID, it was a pretty rough place. So I used to get trashed a lot.'

Jack remembered. Whenever Sam was out, he used to get dragged out of bed and kicked about for a while until Con passed out. He doubted the guy remembered though, he was always wasted in those days. It got to the point where Jack was happier when his father was around, even though he was almost as likely to get hit for something, or screamed at. The best times were when his mother was out of hospital, the house would become quiet and almost normal as everyone tried to keep her happy. Jack always felt guilty that he would want her home as much for that reason as for the fact that it meant she was doing better. His brain told him it was logical, but that didn't make him feel better about his selfishness.

The wind whipped around their heads and it was getting dark now, but neither of them suggested they moved. The story had started here, it would finish here, even if it took all night.

'And then we came up here as usual and everything seemed different. I'd quit my job a few weeks before we came up, otherwise I never would have been here at all. But I suppose I was expecting it to be the way it was every summer and it just wasn't. I hadn't come here from school, that was the difference. I'd been working, and drinking pretty heavily. My girlfriend had broken up with me because of the drinking actually but it didn't stop me. Dad was busy looking after Mom, who was crazy and I couldn't stand to be around her very much. None of the usual Indian guys were around. I was bored – and there you were, being all great and perfect, spending the mornings with Mom and going out to see Becky after lunch. I started to hate you all over again, proper hate. Especially on the days that you'd go and spend the day fishing with Neo. I had no one to do that sort of stuff with anymore and you and he were really close.'

Jack wanted to point out that he'd spent time with Neo because Sam would hardly look at him anymore, let alone do anything with him. It wasn't the only reason - Neo was great, he'd taught him a lot about the history of the Indians and all sorts of thing about nature and the forest. The sort of stuff Sam used to tell him about actually. And he trusted him with his only child, he knew that Jack would never hurt Becky. Of course it turned out not to be true, it had been all too easy for him to believe in Jack's guilt in the end, and that still hurt. The old man was gone now, he'd never found out that he'd been right in his original assessment of Jack - he thought he'd been wrong about him all that time and he had hated himself for trusting him. Jack knew that much because as Neo had been beating him with the bat and swiping at him with the knife, there had been floods of tears running down his face – but the curses had been directed at himself, not at the boy he was taking his anger and hurt out on. That was almost worse than the assault itself and Jack found himself cringing at the memory.

'So I started following you again. I had nothing else to do.' Conrad stopped and swallowed hard. This was the dangerous bit. He could hardly see Jack in the darkness, he hadn't even smoked since he'd started talking so there wasn't the light from a cigarette to illuminate his face. All the same, Con knew he was listening intently and trying to deal with his own thoughts about it all. Maybe it was a good thing that he couldn't see his face actually, this was hard enough to tell as it was.

'Same as usual, you didn't get up to much.' Jack half guessed what was coming, he knew what had happened at the start of that summer, and if he was right, he was already struggling to hold his temper. He knew this was hard for Con to say, he could hear it in his voice but he wasn't going to help him out. Let the guy say it and suffer. 'But there was something different in the way you acted with each other. There was less talking but you seemed closer, like you didn't need to talk so much. I couldn't work it out. And that made me angrier with you still, it was like you were hiding something. And before you say it, yes – I know how sick this is. It didn't seem so at the time, but I was fucked up. You asked me to be honest, so I am, and I'm sorry...'

'Quit stalling. Get on with it.' It was the first time Jack had spoken for a while and Con wished he hadn't. The voice that came out of the darkness was a growl and it was so thick with barely controlled anger that Conrad felt a jolt of fear physically run through him.

'Yeah. So…fuck Jack, do you really want me to spell this out?'

Silence. Obviously a 'yes' so Conrad carried on, hating every word that came out of his own mouth.

'I was up one night, drinking on my own. You know I had Savannah's old room by then. I hated sleeping there, it gave me nightmares. Anyway, I heard the stairs creaking and I knew you must be sneaking out. So I followed you again. I was wasted, I don't know how you didn't hear me. And you met Becky and…'

He was too embarrassed to carry on but Jack didn't help him out. He wanted to kill him instead.

'Jack…'

'Go on, say it. Fucking say it Conrad. You asshole.'

'You took her to the place you always did, during the daytime I mean. And…well, you had sex with her.' God, this was excruciating. 'And I watched.' He expected fists to fly at him out of the darkness, he could feel Jack actually vibrating with anger next to him and he almost went to move away but he was afraid if he moved he would cause Jack to snap.

Jack was holding his right fist in his left hand, digging his nails into the skin hard enough to break it and make himself bleed. He could hardly feel the pain but there was just enough getting through to give him something to focus on other than his fury. He knew how this story ended and he didn't think there could be anything worse than that – but Conrad had proved him wrong yet again. Because of everything that happened, he had never been able to look back on the end of that relationship with anything other than horror and shame. But he could always think further back to how it started and how it progressed and remember the sweetness of first love, the first girl that he could be himself with, the girl he first made love to and who had made love to him.

But now, even that was ruined. All those private moments between them, some of the only happy moments of his teenage years – and they'd all been intruded on, Conrad had spied on them like a dirty pervert and Jack felt violated. He wanted to throw up but he couldn't trust himself to move, if he did he might just kill this sonofabitch.

Maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe it had only been that once. Maybe most of their time together was private after all. 'You watched just that one time?'

Silence. And then… 'No.'

Silence. 'Every night I heard you sneaking out of the house.'

Jack threw himself off the rock and retched next to it, shaking violently. Con stood up and wondered what he could do, but he didn't get much chance to think - a few seconds of silence and then he was flat on his back, seeing stars, and an arm was across his throat, once more choking the life out of him.

'You sonofabitch. You dirty, sneaking, perverted, _sick_ sonofabitch. After everything else you did, you had to take that as well. You ruined that girl, you ruined me and you couldn't even let me keep the few good memories I had. I'm going to fucking _kill_ you Conrad…' The words were fast, almost babbled but Con knew he meant them, just as he knew the water he could feel on his face were Jack's tears, falling in a fast stream.

He could hardly breathe but he managed to gasp out 'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I wanted to come clean and be honest. I wouldn't have told you if I knew it would hurt you this much, I'm sorry Jack…'

'Enjoy it did you?' He pulled at Con's shirt and slammed him back into the ground so his head bounced off sharp rock. 'C'mon Con, I want to know. We're being honest, right? So, did you enjoy it? Get off on it? Fucking _tell me_, we're brothers, shouldn't be any secrets between us anymore…' He stopped banging his head into the rock and waited for a response.

Eventually the words he dreaded came whispering out of the darkness. 'Yes, I enjoyed it. Yes, I got off on it too…'

Jack couldn't move for a few long seconds, he just held Con down. Then he just couldn't do it anymore, couldn't bear to be close to him - he pushed himself away in one fast movement, and flung himself down with his back resting against the rock. It wasn't long before his legs were drawn up to his chest and his face was resting on his knees as he tried to stop the tears that threatened to drown him, the sobs that wracked his frail body. He felt like his ribs were going to break but he still couldn't stop.

Con just lay, dazed. He was a little confused actually. He would have expected this reaction more if it had come at the conclusion to the story. This could hardly be worse than what was to come, surely?

But for Jack, it almost was. It was equally bad. Because now he wouldn't even be able to have those good memories anymore, they were ruined forever. It cheapened everything he'd had with her and even thought it was years in the past, it was another ruined relationship, another thing that was debased and another good thing gone out of his life.

'Jack? Oh God, I'm so sorry. I just thought it would be better to get it all out, I thought that was what you wanted.'

It _was_ what he wanted – until he had heard it. He thought he had known it all already. He had thought that there was no more room in the closet for another skeleton, this was last thing he had been expecting to hear. He had thought this was going to be the two of them talking about why Con had done what he did, and no more – to be broadsided with this was almost more than he could bear. He didn't think there was any way left to hurt, but he'd been proved wrong yet again. It seemed that even when you thought you were on the up, there were still ways that people could take from you. And he hadn't thought he had anything left to lose.

'Why did you do it Con? Fucking _why_? Nothing told you that it was wrong? It didn't seem weird to you at all? _And why the fuck did you just tell me_! Are you trying to ruin _everything _in my life!'

'I'm so sorry. I'm _so_ sorry. I..I just told you because I thought you wanted everything cleared up. I didn't realise it was wrong at the time. It wasn't until afterwards...I got counselling. I'm sorry.'

He was almost crying. Jack hated his fucking guts.

'So Conrad…lets finish this story. Why the fuck not?' He kept his head resting on his knees, he didn't trust himself to look up at the face he hated more than anything else in the world right now. He might just lose it and finish choking him to death this time around. 'How did you jump from jerking off to me and my girlfriend making love – and it _was_ love by the way, not sex, the way you described it – how did you get from that…to raping her, beating the shit out of her and threatening to kill her? And when her Dad found out, how did you manage to twist it in your head so that it seemed like a good idea to blame me? Tell me Con, I'm really interested.'

Conrad struggled into a sitting position, noticing for the first time how cold it had got. He felt the back of his head gingerly. There was blood but it didn't seem too bad. Hurt like hell though and his throat was killing him again, it had only just recovered from the last assault a couple of days ago. He realised he needed to tread carefully here, he didn't kid himself that Jack wouldn't hurt him anymore, and he also knew that despite his brothers emaciated frame, he still didn't stand a chance against him. But he had to tell the truth. It was the only thing left to do.

'I was drunk.' He muttered and it was through shame as much as his sore throat. 'I'd been watching you for a few weeks and it was tearing me up with anger. I was jealous again – you seemed to have something really special with her. The few times you brought her over here for dinner, I would watch you and there was this bond between you, you'd catch each other's eye over the table and smile like you were sharing this great secret. It drove me crazy. I was out of work, I had no girlfriend, I was a drunk and was bored out of my mind every day – and my kid brother was in love with this beautiful girl and I thought everything was great for you. I couldn't handle it. I wanted some of what you had but I didn't know how to get it. It was all I could think about.

I started getting a plan together but I never thought I'd do anything about it. It was just a fantasy really. And then, Mom disappeared one day. I know you remember. We all went out looking for her, she was off her head again. I found her but she thought I was you. She kept looking at me and saying 'Jack? Jack?' over and over. I wanted to slap her, but I didn't, I just brought her home and put her to bed. When Dad got back, he didn't say 'good job' or anything, he just grunted at me and went to check on her. I felt useless and got really angry – so I went to my room and started drinking. I didn't stop for hours. I heard you go out about midnight and suddenly, the fantasy seemed like a good idea. I was so mad at you. So I waited until you were gone and then came after you. I knew where you were going of course. You were with her for a couple of hours after I got there, but I had a bottle with me and just drank that while I waited. It stopped me from backing out – and I wish I had backed out Jack, please believe me.' No response from the curled up figure.

'So when you were done, you left first. She wasn't far behind you but I'd put myself on the path that she took so there was no danger of you seeing me. She walked past the tree I was hiding behind and I just clamped my hand over her mouth to keep her quiet until I knew you would be too far away to hear. And then I dragged her back into your little hut and….well, you know the rest.'

Yes, he knew the rest. He knew that he'd gone over to her place the next day like he always did, to find Neo at the door in pieces, saying someone had attacked Becky. He had gone inside to find her curled up in a corner, unable to speak for crying, and her face one big ugly purple bruise. Her eyes were almost swollen shut, her lips were cracked and she had shied away from anyone touching her, even him. It had broken his heart to look at her and he'd immediately gone to her father, asking why she hadn't seen a doctor. Neo explained that she wouldn't let him near enough to take her anywhere, but a girlfriend of hers was coming over and maybe she could help.

Jack had waited while the friend went in to see her. It had been an agonising thirty minutes. When she'd come out, she told Jack to go away and come back tomorrow – he did, but Becky was in hospital by then. She had gone into shock and wasn't talking. It was clear that she had been brutally raped but the police weren't involved – as far as anyone was concerned, the attack had taken place on Indian land, where the police had no jurisdiction. Not that they cared anyway. Neo didn't want the authorities involved in any case, he would deal with whoever had done it, he told Jack that himself.

So he'd gone back to the cabin, sick with disbelief. He'd had no clue who would have done such a thing, all he could imagine was that one of the Indian boys had grabbed her as she made her way back home after seeing him. It was the only thing that made sense and he wanted to find the person and break his neck – but he knew he wouldn't be allowed to. Indians had their own rules when it came to dealing out punishments. He just hoped that they found who did it and made them pay.

Conrad hadn't been at the house when he got there. Sam was though, and he'd asked why he looked so sick, but he hadn't been able to tell him. Maybe if he had, everything would have turned out differently, because later on, Sam would tell everyone that Jack had looked sick with guilt when he came home. But he wasn't thinking straight at the time. He had just gone to his room and sat staring at the walls, wondering what to do with himself. There were some things he didn't know though and he wanted Con to fill in the blanks.

'So where did the idea come from to blame me? Didn't you feel bad? And where were you when I came back from the hospital the first time?'

Con shifted uncomfortably from the questions. He was hugging himself to try and keep warm and he had to raise his voice to be heard above the wind. 'Of course I felt bad Jack. I woke up the next morning and puked everywhere when I remembered.' He didn't mention that that might have been from the hangover. 'And then I panicked. I thought Neo would actually kill me when he found out. I didn't think she would keep quiet like I'd told her to. I'm not proud of this…'

'Fuck that. Get on with it.'

Jack was never going to forgive him, he could hear it in his voice. 'OK. I got ready to run. I packed up my stuff and loaded my car. I didn't know what else to do. But then I saw you come back and you didn't go crazy at me, so I knew that she hadn't said anything so far. I began to think that maybe she would keep her mouth shut after all. So I waited. You went back the next day but you didn't know that Neo had already been over to see Dad, to see if he might have heard anything the night it happened. He hadn't, I was listening at the door. And I heard that Becky was in hospital and in shock and she wasn't speaking. I felt a bit safer. But I also heard Neo say that when they caught the person who had done it, he was a dead man. I got scared again and there was only one thing I could think of to do..

He took off in his truck and went back home, that must have been when you ran into him and he told you that she was in hospital. I waited until you got back here and you looked like shit. You didn't see me and you went upstairs. I got Dad into the car quietly and told him I had to tell him something. But I didn't straight away. I drove him over to the reservation, and told him and Neo together that I'd heard you sneak out that night.'

Jack groaned into his knees, the sound almost lost in the wind. He couldn't believe this. He thought he would be alright hearing the details, it had all been so long ago. But the calculating way that Conrad had done this, it cut him to the bone. He had always thought that it was done out of spite, on a whim, a throwaway comment that implicated Jack in the rape and that Sam had taken it and made up the rest on his own. But it wasn't – this was quite different. This was premeditated and cold and _fuck_, if anyone deserved to be flogged until there was no skin left on his body it was Conrad….

'Neo couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that you would have done it. Dad wasn't sure…but I've got to be honest here Jack, I reminded him that you attacked him that time at Savannah's grave and that swayed him. It didn't really take much for some reason. I also implied that you'd talked about wanting to sleep with Becky but she wouldn't let you, I made it sound like you had been pressuring her…that did it for Neo, who was almost out of his head with grief. He had no reason to believe that I was making it up and Dad didn't know the way I felt about you. I don't know why he was so ready to believe the worst about you…'

'Maybe because you had told him that the dare that killed Savannah was _my_ idea? Shit Con….'

'Oh. I'd forgotten. Yes, maybe you're right. Anyway, dad instantly announced that you were out on your ear, he would have nothing more to do with you. I was happy about that, I'm sorry to say. He did say that he would rather the police weren't involved because he didn't want his good name dragged through the mud - Neo told him that you'd never see the inside of a cell. You'd be taken care of. I didn't really think he would try and kill you but…' He'd been wrong about that, if that scar on Jack's back was anything to go by.

'Anyhow, he was ready to go and drag you out of your room by your balls. I told him that there was an easier way. If Dad was serious about kicking you out – he assured me he was – then you would come straight over here. It was the only place you would have thought would be open to you. Even if you didn't, you'd be sure to try and get back to LA, and all Neo would have to do would be to get someone to grab you off the road.

We came back to the cabin, but you weren't in your room. I guessed that you'd be down at the lake. Mom heard us looking for you and wanted to know what was going on. Eventually we told her that you were going away, I don't think she really grasped why. But she insisted on coming to 'say goodbye' to you. So we all walked down the path together. Dad was so mad, he couldn't wait for Mom to keep up. He was really livid, you know how he felt about the treatment of 'ladies.' I offered to stay and walk down with her and he went on ahead. When she and I got there, you were already on the ground, it looked like he had hit you. And then I heard you screaming and you threw your keys out into the water. Then you ran past and that was it.'

Jack raised his head. 'Not quite Con. You forgot the part where you were grinning the whole time. And the part where I stopped to hug Mom and you were standing next to her, holding on to her arm and you leant over and let me know that it was you that did it. You remember what you said? Do you Conrad?'

Oh shit. He'd forgotten about that.

He hadn't been able to resist. He'd leant over and whispered in Jack's ear 'Best piece of ass I ever had Jack, you were a lucky guy…' Emphasis on 'were.' And Jack had let go of their mother and turned to him and he looked like he was about to murder him where he stood – but Mom had piped in with 'Have a good trip Jack' and Con could see that he wouldn't do anything with her standing there. Then their Dad had walked up and Jack had looked back and started running…that was the last time he'd seen him, until a week ago.

'I remember. I can only say I'm sorry again. I really am Jack, I don't know what else to say.'

Jack wasn't listening. He was remembering the moment that Sam had walked down to him with a face as black as thunder, and punched him square on the jaw, knocking him right off this very rock that he leant against now. Of course, he had wondered what the hell he had done to earn that one, it was a full-on punch, harder than normal. Then he'd started screaming about how Jack was a disgrace and a no-good waster that would end up in jail for the rest of his life, a criminal that deserved to be dead. He tried to fight the memories off but they were just too strong…

'_What are you talking about Dad? What have I done?'_

'_You know very well what you've done you evil little shit. Becky may be in hospital for months – and all because you couldn't keep it in your pants. You're a disgrace. You're never to come near my family again, do you hear me? I wont have a criminal like you near my wife and son.'_

'_But I'm your son too. I don't understand… I never hurt Becky. I would never do that…'_

'_Oh really? Because Conrad heard you going out that night, do you deny it? Where else would you be going?'_

He had picked him up and punched him back down again at this point, breaking his nose and causing blood to flood over his chin.

'No, I don't deny I went out. But I didn't hurt her. We met at night before…' 

'_You've been trying to get into her pants for a while then? Get frustrated did you Jack? Couldn't take 'no' for an answer? You disgusting pervert, you make me sick. You're nothing to me.'_

'_Dad…'_

'_Don't call me that. Don't ever call me that again. I should have known you were no good when you killed your sister. And you attacked me, you've accused Conrad of hitting you before now. I cant believe I didn't see it until now. You're rotten to the core Jack and I never want to see you again. Not ever. You understand? No son of mine would do such things…'_

And on and on… He had been kicked and punched repeatedly, Con must have only seen the last one. He remembered trying to plead, his face covered with blood and tears, but Sam was unbending. Then he'd seen his brother's smiling face and he'd known. Even before Conrad had said anything, he'd known…

He couldn't do anything. The impotence was the worst thing of all. Their mother was right there and if he attacked Conrad, he would just prove what Sam was saying about him. So he lost it, grabbed his keys out of his pocket and flung them as far out into the water as he could. He screamed that he never wanted to be part of this family anyway, that he hated Sam and wished he was dead. It seemed to confirm the man's suspicions and his father just crossed his arms and sneered at him. So he'd broken and ran, stopping only for a quick goodbye to his mother. And then Con had whispered those words and he had never felt such hate towards another person. But there was nothing he could do. He'd run.

And this was where he'd ended up. Twenty-five years later and he was back in the exact same spot, and no better off. There didn't seem to be any end to the cruelty of life. A few hours ago he'd been feeling good, ready to face the future and conquer his problems. Now, he was right back at the bottom again. He couldn't take help from Conrad now. There was no way. He'd had no idea that it had happened the way it had been described, it was a thousand times worse than he'd expected. He would have never told Con a word about his life if he had known then what he knew now. Everything they had built had been built on quicksand, and it crumbled away now, as insubstantial as dust in the wind.

He wanted to ask Con whether he'd enjoyed it, whether ruining a young girl and getting away with it was worth what he got in return. Because he'd only done it to spite him. All because of anger and jealousy and self-loathing and..._fuck_. Jack wanted to beat him until the last breath screamed out of his body but he was just too sick. He controlled himself. If he hit once, he wouldn't stop. And this piece of shit wasn't worth it.

He couldn't stay here a moment longer. He pulled himself to his feet and prepared to leave. There was nothing to say to his brother. But Con had other ideas and grabbed at him as he tried to pass.

'Wait Jack!'

'Get off me, unless you want that arm handed back to you in pieces…'

Con let go. 'I just wanted to give you something. I cant blame you for leaving. God, I'm so sorry. I thought you would be alright with hearing it…'

'Save it. I'm not interested.' He made to go again but Conrad stopped him again.

'Jack! Just take this first.'

'Take what?' There was a rustle of paper.

'Shit, it's too dark, you cant read it. Here, take it though.' Jack felt something being pressed into his hand. 'It's the deeds for the house Jack. I signed my half of this place over to you this afternoon, it's all yours now. I don't know if you want it, but it's yours to sell, or demolish or do whatever you want with.' He waited, unsure of what would happen next. He hoped that it would be enough to calm Jack down, maybe there was still a chance of him making it to rehab in the morning.

Jack flicked on his Zippo and scanned the top page, seeing his name – Jack Samuel Bauer III – listed as the sole owner of the property. The wind blew and extinguished the flame and to Conrad's utter astonishment, laughter came at him out of the darkness. Actual laughter. He thought his ears were playing tricks on him at first, but no, there it was again. 'Jack?'

His brother started to move and his words came floating back on the wind. 'Better get your ass back if you want any of your stuff Conrad. That place is going _down_…' He barely caught the last words, but Jack's voice sounded strange, kind of crazy, as he disappeared into the night. Con hauled himself up and headed towards the path, stumbling over the rocky ground. His head was thumping and he tried to keep up with the dark shadow in front of him. He didn't know what Jack was going to do, but it didn't sound good.

Jack hit the path running, not caring if Conrad got lost in the dark forever. There was only one thing in his head. He'd thought he might do it anyway before he came here, and he had planned for the eventuality. Now there was no doubt in his mind. This place wouldn't be able to spread its evil to anyone else. It was contaminated land, ruined by the people that had spent part of their lives here. No more. No one else would suffer from being here the way he had.

He had thought earlier that running would make him collapse in his weakened state. As he increased his pace and spurred himself to greater speed, he was glad to find that it was not the case. The wind whipped around him as he ran and finally, after hours of promise, Jack felt the first of the rain on his face. Fat drops splattered against his skin, slowly to start with and then suddenly the heavens opened, and he was soaked to the skin within the space of a few paces. He laughed into the storm as the first thunder sounded, yelled back at the crack of the lightning over the hills. He felt crazy, and maybe he was, but damn, if he was going down, he'd be going down fighting.

And that fucking house was going with him.


	29. Peace Part 29 nd Epilogue

Peace – Chapter 29

He reached the shed and kicked straight through the door, even though he'd already done that ten days ago. It couldn't stand the onslaught and crumbled immediately. Jack grabbed two of the cans of gas he'd brought up with him and ran to the house, his breath catching in his chest. Rain slammed into him but he didn't notice, thunder and lightning crashed above him and he ignored it all. His mind was set on one thing only – destruction.

He took the stairs two at a time, the cans banging awkwardly into his legs. It didn't take long to empty them through the upstairs rooms, starting with the old mattresses that would go up in an instant. He threw the empty cans down and turned to go down for more, but as an afterthought he went back to where he'd been sleeping, riffled through his pack for his stove and grabbed his gun off the shelf. That got tucked into his waistband. He left the large stash of heroin where it was. That shit could burn.

He ran back outside and got the other three tanks - one went on the stairs, the other two covered the sitting room and kitchen. Before he left, he picked up the nearly full bottle of Scotch and then headed for the door for the last time. One more pause when he reached the porch – he turned back and spat on the threshold, mustering all of his contempt and putting it into that one rude gesture. Then he picked up the small gas camping stove he'd brought down from his pack, started the flame and he threw it with as much force as he could muster back through the open door.

The sound of the place going up could be heard a mile away. Jack stood back and let the rain cover him, he raised his face to the sky and laughed and laughed. The house was old, and the wood was bone dry despite the rain, it had baked here in temperatures over 100 degrees all summer long. There was enough gas in there to burn rock and it was clear that it would all be over soon. Jack backed away from the force of the heat and sat down to lean against his car and enjoy the show. The rain didn't stop pouring but he couldn't have cared less.

* * *

Conrad was only halfway up the path when he heard a deep 'whoomp' sound. He couldn't place where he'd heard it before but he knew it sounded familiar. He tried to run faster but his throat was too sore, his head hurt too much. He moved as quickly as he could and as he approached he could detect the unmistakable stench of gasoline. He realised what the sound had been. It was the sound you got when you threw something flammable onto a fire – there was always a pause while the heat took hold, and then it went all went up at once, making that sound.

Only this time, it was fire that had been thrown onto something flammable. His suspicions were confirmed as he entered the clearing, soaked through and gasping for breath. He didn't see the small figure sitting by the car and fear gripped him. Had he….? No. Surely not. Not like that…

He ran towards the inferno, yelling Jack's name, but it was swallowed up by the sounds of the blaze and the roar of the storm. He jumped back as part of the roof collapsed with a loud crashing sound and flames licked through the gap, reaching to the sky. Con saw that the fire would devour the house in a matter of minutes, there was nothing he could do about it.

He turned away, unable to bear the heat and the smoke anymore. Relief ran through him as he noticed Jack sitting by his car but then he saw he was holding his gun in a hand that rested on a bent knee. The flames cast a strange red glow on his face, their shadow seemed to dance across his brother's skin and Conrad couldn't tell what he was thinking behind the blank expression. Did he mean to use that gun on one of them? If he was, Con hoped he would be the one to get it. Jack's question of that morning echoed through his head. _Would you kill a good man to save your own life? _

_No. If it has to be one of us Jack, let it be me_.

They stared at each other for a long moment and all sounds seemed to fade into the background. Jack pulled himself to his feet, their eyes never breaking contact. He walked slowly towards his brother, hating him and loving him at the same time, and finally came to a stop in front of him where there suddenly wasn't anything left for them to say. It had all been said already. After a pause that felt like it was an hour long, Jack tucked the gun back into his jeans.

'Thanks for the house Connie.'

What could he say to that?

'You're welcome Jack.'

* * *

EPILOGUE

Morning came early. The sun rose on the two of them, sitting side by side, both smoking cigarettes and passing the remains of the Scotch between them. The storm had blown itself out just before dawn and the rain had contained the fire so it didn't spread to the forest. They had been lucky in that respect.

The house had burned quickly and had taken everything with it. Jack simply couldn't feel anything, not even anger. It was over. All that remained was a great pile of ash with a few blackened beams resting in the middle. And Jack wouldn't let this place ruin him anymore. Not for another second. The weight of twenty-five years of pain was too heavy and Jack simply put it down. He wouldn't break himself trying to carry it around anymore.

The heat given off was incredible but they didn't move, it helped dry them out anyway. The night had been passed in silence, there really wasn't anything left they could say to each other. Neither wanted to fight anymore. Con was feeling too beaten up and Jack was too emotionally spent. Even something as simple as standing seemed like too much effort right now.

Eventually though, something had to be said. It was just that neither knew what it was so they both remained silent until something occurred to them. The sun got higher in the sky and still they didn't speak. They didn't sweat it. Something would come to them eventually.

The Scotch was empty. Con let Jack have the last mouthful. They ran out of cigarettes, Jack sacrificed the last one this time round. The empty bottle got thrown into the ash pile where it exploded with a loud crack. Neither man jumped. They had been expecting it and besides, nothing would ever surprise them again.

It was amazing how quiet the forest could get after a storm. Everything was still for a long time, and they sat and listened to the silence.

Jack was getting a little edgy. No big deal. He reached into his pocket and grabbed his works, filled the syringe and mainlined the last vial. Conrad had nothing to say, even when Jack put everything back into his case, including the tourniquet, and threw the whole package into the smouldering remains of the house. A small tendril of smoke indicated that it was starting to burn, then their ears were greeted with the gentle tinkling of shattering glass – Jack's syringe succumbing to the heat.

That was what they had been waiting for, the silent end to a silent conversation. Everything would end here and they had to move forward. The past had gone up in flames with the house.

They stood awkwardly, stiff from sitting so long in the same position. As they stretched, they heard the sound of a truck and they waited to see who it was. The ranger, Joe, pulled up and stared over the remains of the house, then over the remains of the brothers. He smiled at them, the stink of gasoline strong in his nostrils. He remembered well what had happened here all those years ago.

'Couldn't get through earlier – rain washed out the road up the track.' His eyes took in the scene again, settling on the blackened faces. 'Lightning got it eh? Too bad.' They grinned at him and he cackled back, his laugh genuine and deep. 'Take it easy now boys…'

And he was gone, once more they were alone. Conrad turned and eyed his brother. Then he extended his hand and Jack took it without hesitation.

'You'll follow me down? I'll show you the way.'

'I'll be right behind you.'

They smiled quietly at each other, then parted and got into their trucks. Con took the lead and Jack didn't look back. He'd come looking for peace and hadn't quite found it – but in these last hours, he had come damn close. His brother would help him the rest of the way, and he would let him, because now he _could_ let him. And that was better than nothing.

Smoke filled his rear view mirror and obscured the path behind him. But he wasn't looking behind. The track curved ahead and then straightened, the trees parted and opened out on to the most beautiful view Jack had ever seen. He laughed out loud. It was going to be a glorious day.


End file.
